


Tumblr Posts

by ImNeitherNor



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Added Tags as I go, And the other way around, Bets, Billy Finding Himself, Billy fighting for Steve, Billy's Inner Reflections, Dominant Steve, Kissing, M/M, Random Tumblr Prompts, Shakespeare References, Some Fluff, Some Omega Billy, Some Omega Steve, Some sadness, Steve is a dork, Toaster Fears, Usually a happy ending, break ups, drag racing, explicit - Freeform, favorite colors, king steve, mature - Freeform, monster fighting, proposing, some abo, some aren't, some chapters are explicit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-25
Updated: 2018-07-20
Packaged: 2019-05-28 13:22:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 28
Words: 22,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15050015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImNeitherNor/pseuds/ImNeitherNor
Summary: I contemplated, for a while, putting all of my Harringrove drabbles on Tumblr onto AO3. I am doing that now!Each chapter is a different prompt or idea.As I add to Tumblr, I'll add on here, as well.Thank you for joining me on this ride with Harringrove!





	1. I Never Injured Thee

Prompt 1

"I Never Injured Thee"

 

            Billy should have known the second Steve’s teeth broke through his scent glands that shit was going to go down at school. He should have known that coming off his suppressants and presenting to _King Steve_ as an omega would end up causing fucking drama. He should have known.

 

            But he _did_ know. He just chose to ignore it. He figured he had beaten enough people into the ground and bared enough teeth to warn people off, and he _had_. Steve, though? He couldn’t even fight _Byers_. He had no chance when it came to fights, and the second he heard shit was going down outside between him and a couple of alphas, anger spiked and his body acted before his mind could follow.

 

            When Billy kicked the doors open, he heard the tail end of _faggot_ and saw red. He didn’t have time to look at Steve, didn’t have time to take in the damage before he was throwing one of the other alphas against the wall and slamming his fist across his face. He felt teeth below his knuckles, felt them split open, and hit him again. The adrenaline that pumped through his veins was a welcoming feeling in contrast to how _miniscule_ he had felt after his dad ripped away his only way of hiding, his only way of being _safe_.

 

            Arms wrapped around his waist, presumably to pull him off of whoever he was beating, but Billy wasn’t fucking having it. He dug his elbow into the guy’s side and yanked forward. As soon as the pressure let up, he turned and swung. The other alpha went down with a yelp and a _fuck_ and Billy cackled.

 

            “Maybe,” Billy managed and ducked as the alpha he had pinned against the wall swung. “Maybe you should fuckin’ think about who you’re dealing with _before_ picking a fight, yeah?”

 

            “Funny coming out of an _omega_ bitch’s mouth,” the first alpha spat and Billy laughed again.

 

            “You think I haven’t heard that before? Come up with something _new_.” Billy sneered and cracked his knuckles. “I can do this all day, boys.”

 

            “Fuck that,” the alpha on the ground pushed himself up and held his nose, which, Billy noticed, was probably broken. Definitely crooked. “Man. Fuck you and fuck Steve.”

 

            “Been there, done that,” Billy grinned, all teeth, and cocked his head to the side as he watched the two scramble off. As soon as they were gone, his expression fell and he turned to squat down next to Steve. He was half-conscious and looked—looked better than the time Billy got a hold of him—but still not great. He grimaced and reached out to tuck a piece of brown hair behind Steve’s ear.

 

            “I had ‘em,” Steve slurred and Billy chuckled.

 

            “Sure you did, pretty boy,” he pursed his lips and glanced back over where the two had run off. Really, he should have done more damage, but his instincts told him to _stay_ and to _protect_. Billy glanced back at Steve’s face. “Your nose doesn’t look broken, at least. But you’re pretty bloody.”

 

            “Fuck off,” Steve grunted and rolled over onto his side. As he stood, Billy reached out and steadied him.

 

            “I’m your knight in shining armor. That’s not nice,” Billy’s grin was back and despite the _fuck off_ , Steve took the offered arm and leaned against his side for support.

 

            “Knight? Really? _You_?” Steve looked over at him through what Billy could see were going to be black eyes. Guilt washed over him, but he ignored it. As much as he wished he could have been there sooner, the damage was done and Steve just needed to be taken care of now.

 

            “You want me to belt out some Shakespeare shit? Because I can, and I _will_ ,” Billy snorted at the groan from Steve and led them toward the Camaro.

 

            “ _Please_ don’t—“

 

            “ _This shall not excuse the injuries that thou has done me; therefore turn and draw_!” Billy yelled it and Steve slapped a hand over his face. At the whine, Billy rolled his eyes. “You’re _injured_ , dickhead. Maybe not hitting yourself would be the way to go.”

 

            “What did I do to deserve this?” Steve sounded petulant as Billy guided him into the passenger seat of the Camaro.

 

            “You fucked an omega bitch, amigo, and now you’re stuck with him.” Billy leaned over, his forearm pressed against the top of the car to balance himself as he smiled at Steve. A smile just for him—always just for him.

 

            “Don’t call yourself that, first of all,” Steve said, “Second of all, I _claimed_ you. I didn’t _fuck_ you. Christ.”

 

            “ _I do protest, I never injured thee_ —“

 

            “I _hate_ you.”

 

            “Love you, too, pretty boy.” Billy ducked down and slotted their lips together. He tasted blood and knew he was probably bothering Steve’s injuries, but he didn’t seem to mind.

 

 


	2. Drag Race (But All I See is You)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Billy manages to get Steve to a drag race, but the cars aren't what Steve is paying attention to.

Prompt 2: Drag Race (But All I See is You)

 

 

            The _only_ positive thing about the track was Billy’s outfit. Sure, Billy _said_ it was exciting, but how the hell was Steve supposed to know that beyond Billy’s fucking _shorts_ (which were fucking _short_ ) and his crop top. And it didn’t bother him that Billy’s crop top had a racer’s number on it instead of his basketball number. No. Nope. Not at all. It didn’t bother him that Billy’s stomach was out there or that the smooth line of his back was clearly visible—or his thighs. No. None of that bothered him.

 

            Which, Steve noted, was why he _definitely_ had his arm around Billy’s waist in the stands. His eyes tracked the cars as they sped by. Each time a car roared past, Billy tensed beside him and wooped, excited and thrilled and _gorgeous_. He had shocked Steve when he pulled his hair back into a messy bun, said something about _heat_ and the sun, and Steve—Steve was a goner. All Billy needed were roller skates and he would be the wet dream of just about anyone at the race track.

 

            “-boy, hey!” Billy jabbed his side and Steve winced.

 

            “What! _Ow_. Dickhead,” He glared and Billy returned it, even with his lips spread into a happy grin.

 

            “You enjoyin’ it?” Billy nodded toward the cars and Steve looked, just to amuse him, but his eyes tracked back to Billy and his fingers twitched.

 

            “Something a lot more interesting is sitting next to me,” Steve replied and dug his fingers into Billy’s side. It was true. It didn’t matter how loud the cars were as they roared by—Billy and his outfit were… _distracting._

 

            “You think I didn’t pick this shit out on purpose?” Billy cackled at the look Steve shot him.

 

            “ _Asshole_ ,” Steve groused and Billy slid his tongue over his lower lip.

 

            “That’s where your dicks gonna be later, _sweetheart_.”

 

            Steve pinched the bridge of his nose.

 

            “Wanna make a bet?” Billy edged closer and Steve knew he was _fucked_.

 

            “What, Hargrove?”

 

            “Aw, last name. Ouch.” Billy chuckled and looked at the track. “Pick a car. If it’s in the top five, I’ll do whatever you want. If mine is the top five, you do whatever I want.”

 

            “And if we’re both in the top five?”

 

            “Mm, then I guess we’re both topping.” Billy grinned and Steve laughed.


	3. Self-Control For Your Safety (It’s A Small Price to Pay)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve understands Billy more than most.

Prompt 3: Self-Control For Your Safety (It’s A Small Price to Pay)

 

            If there’s one thing Steve has learned about Billy in their sort-of-relationship, it’s that he _does not_ like to be touched after sex. During sex, sure. They were connected, anyway, and Billy didn’t mind when Steve pulled his hair a little too hard or when he left finger-shaped bruises on his hips. From what Steve could tell, Billy liked it when he was finally able to let go, to _not worry_ about things beyond the bedroom. Steve took care of him and some nights, Billy loses count of how many orgasms Steve pulled from his body.

 

            Even on those nights, though, after Billy was well and truly fucked and his body was littered with come, _dripping_ with it, Steve still knows better. He isn’t the cuddling type. He doesn’t like to be crowded or caged if he isn’t full of Steve’s cock. No, Billy liked space enough that, like tonight, he had showered and retreated to one of the guest beds. He didn’t even slide under the covers—something about messing them up or some stupid shit—and fallen asleep with his cheek tucked against the pillow and his curls still damp.

 

            Steve laid in bed and stared at the ceiling. No, Billy didn’t like cuddling, but there were moments when they were fucking, when his eyes and expression softened, when his lips parted, that Steve was _sure_ something more was going to come out of him. That he was going to say something meaningful. He _always_ cut himself off, though. Always bit his lower lip and closed his eyes, avoided Steve’s gaze, and Steve fucked him harder for it.

 

            Billy didn’t like cuddling, but Steve didn’t blame him. Not when he came to Steve’s house with bruises on his cheek or a split lip or eyebrow. Not when Steve noticed the bare hint of a flinch when someone raised their hand (usually an older male). Not even when Billy barely gave _him_ personal space during practice or when he needed to be taken apart and put back together again.

 

            Steve liked cuddling, but Billy didn’t, and that was… that was okay because at least—at least Billy gave _something_ to Steve. Something, he knew, that was vulnerable and breathtaking and _just for him_.

 

            So, Steve liked to cuddle, but—but just seeing Billy relax and look like he felt _safe_ was worth giving him space.


	4. I Don't Need You (But I Do)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Billy's in heat, and he doesn't _need_ Steve.
> 
> Except he does.
> 
> Warning: ABO.

Prompt 4: I Don't Need You (But I Do)

 

          Billy hates that he’s an omega. He hates it so much but Neil won’t buy his suppressants anymore because he needs to “be a man” and “take responsibility for his  _choices”_ because being a fucking OMEGA is a goddamned choice.

 

          Billy hits his heat, but it isn’t on time. No, of course it’s not. Steve finally becomes the asshole he’s heard about and shoves him on the court. He gets close and looms over him and it  _kicks his fucking heat in_  because Steve is an  _alpha_  and his body fucking  _knows it_.

 

          So, Billy sequesters himself in the showers and tries to rinse off the slick and shame and  _hate_  from his skin, even if his mind begins to fog because… because he has to touch along his thighs to wash it off. He has to touch just near his hole and it spasms in protest because he won’t actually  _touch_. Because being an omega is a fucking  _shame,_ especially as a male.  
  
  


          Everyone is gone. At least, he thought so. Of course, he thought so.  
  
  


          But then he smells something dark like chocolate and vanilla and Steve Harrington is standing in the mouth of the showers, staring and clearly hard in his tiny basketball shorts. His mouth waters and he fights down the urge to fall to his knees, to present, and  _snarls,_ instead. 

 

          “What, Harrington?” He hisses and he  _ignores_  the thickness in his voice.

 

          But the look Steve gives him is still  _King Steve_ , the one he met on the court today and the one that tried to fight him months ago.

 

          When Steve steps into the showers, fully dressed, Billy knows he’s  _fucked_. The slick runs down his thighs despite just having cleaned it off.

 

          In fact, the closer Steve gets, the more Billy’s head screams for him to _kneel_ , to _submit_ to the dark, sweet scent that rolls off Steve and over his own skin. His thighs are quaking as he fights, his breath beginning to catch in his throat and burn in his lungs. When Steve is less than an arm’s length away, Billy’s knees finally give in. He sinks down and chokes on a noise thick with shame and need. Fuck not having his suppressants. Fuck his dad for making him feel useless and like a _slut_.

 

          As soon as Steve’s fingers slide along his scalp and stroke through his hair, the tension in Billy’s muscles melts away. Even as he bites in his head, snarls and _hates_ , his body is betraying him by leaning into Steve’s huge palm as a new wave of heat makes his insides clench and slick drip out of him to fall thickly onto the tile floor of the showers.

 

          “I’m gonna--” Steve’s voice is deeper, darker, and it makes Billy keen, “—gonna help you enough to get you out of here, okay?”

 

          “Fuck… _fuck_ …” Billy feels scrambled; his words are garbled as his body trembles. He tries to pull his head away, but as soon as he does, another crash of heat hits him and pushes him nearly to the ground. His hands seek Steve out without his permission, touching his bare legs and then his thighs, just below his basketball shorts.

 

          “Fuck me, I know. I get it.” Steve sounds just as breathless, but more—more _aware_ —and Billy’s head feels like it’s full of cotton and static. He presses his face against Steve’s thigh, to his shorts, and tries to mouth at the erection tenting the fabric. Steve’s hands tighten in his hair, though, and tug him away. “No, Billy.” And Billy fucking _whines_ like some bitch and he can’t—he can’t figure out _why_ he’s so offended that Steve won’t let him suck him off. He wants to and the alpha is _rejecting_ him. “You’re the one who needs it. Not me. Back, Billy. Lie back.”

 

          Billy blinks, slowly, as he focuses on Steve’s words. _No_ and _Lie back_ are all he hears, all he probably _wants_ to hear. His body moves, even as his mind stays static, and the floor presses against his shoulder blades and his ass and suddenly, the heat of Steve’s body is close. He can feel the hard planes of the other boy as he slots himself between his thighs.

 

          “ _Hurts_ ,” Billy gasps out as another wave hits him, strong and deep, like the thick, wet pull of the undertow. This time, his stomach coils and his body feels like its been set on fire. Steve’s hands find his hips and press down, keep him still, and that’s when he realizes that he’s been rocking, bucking uselessly toward Steve to get him to _touch_ , to do _anything_ but sit there. He hears the ‘ssh’ and growls, low and tight, a sharp, needy thing that just pisses him off more.

 

          “Just enough,” Steve reminds him softly, and his voice is like syrup and a balm all at once. “Calm down, Billy.” And his muscles relax and Billy wants to scream because this isn’t _him_. He wants to claw and bite and spit, but Steve feels _safesafesafe_ and Billy knows, distantly, that _he_ _isn’t_ safe like this. Steve is helping him to be safe, and that’s why he keeps calming, keeps responding so well to Steve’s words.

 

          There are fingers around his cock, now, warm and strong and sure. Billy kicks his hips up and whimpers. It isn’t where he wanted. Not at all, but he will take whatever Steve will give him. He arches his back and sighs, a fierce, content thing as Steve’s fingers begin to move. The strokes were quick and hard and Billy can tell that it’s meant to help him get through this. It isn’t something intimate and right now, he’s _okay_ with that because he _needs_ release.

 

          It should be embarrassing how quickly he spills over Steve’s hand, over his stomach, but as soon as that coiled pressure in his spine bursts and he comes with a sharp whine, the waves abate and he can breathe again. He slumps heavily against the floor and pants, and maybe the ceiling swirls for a few seconds, but at least he can _somewhat_ think straight.

 

          “Good to go?” Steve murmurs as the taller player leans over Billy.

 

          No, Billy is _not good_. He is in heat and he can’t go _home_ and he has never experienced this shit before and—and—

 

          “ _Fuck you_ ,” Billy hisses. _No_.

 

          Steve seems to just _know_ , though, and a small, sad smile quirks his lips.

 

          “My house is open if you’d like. No one is there,” Steve sits back, then, enough so that Billy can sit up and shudder as the spray hits his back again. “I can take care of you, if you’d like. It’ll be between us. Just us.”

 

_Just us_. Billy’s mouth waters and his eyes drop from Steve’s to his tiny basketball shorts that are still stretched firmly over his erection. Steve is big and Billy can’t help but wonder what that would feel like inside of him. His insides clench, then, and he knows his heat flares because Steve’s eyes widen and his pupils become sharp.

 

          “Just us,” Billy repeats. It’s a question, but he doesn’t _want_ it to be a question.

 

          “Just us,” Steve nods at him and Billy licks his lips.

 

          “Gotta—gotta keep your fuckin’ mouth shut, Harrington. Or I—”

 

          “Ass is grass, yeah, yeah.” Steve grins and Billy doesn’t want to admit that a part of him melts at that. When Steve stands and offers him a hand, Billy, for the first time in his life since his mother died, reaches out to take the offered help and pulls himself off the ground.

 

 


	5. Power Steering (You've Got Me Hooked)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Billy is a mechanic and he doesn't need power steering, but he knows Steve likes watching him under the hood of his Camaro.

Prompt 5:  Power Steering (You've Got Me Hooked)

           

            “What do you mean, _I don’t need power steering_?” Steve’s eyebrows inched higher on his forehead and Billy snorted.

 

            “You don’t. At least, I don’t.” Billy shrugged, but Steve couldn’t see it. He was on his back beneath the Camaro. His boss had let him use the shop to fix the leak on his power steering, and the deeper he got into it, the more he realized that it was trashed. Technically, he didn’t _need_ power steering, and it wasn’t like he didn’t have the strength to turn the wheels himself as long as the car was moving under its own power. Parked, he’d be fucked, but back up and pull forward and the steering wheel would move.

 

            “What is that supposed to mean?” Steve sounded indignant and Billy chuckled, even as Steve kicked his boot.

 

            “It means I can handle turning the wheels on my own damned car, but you might cry if you had to with your heavy ass Beemer.” Billy edged out from under the car so he could make eye contact with Steve. He was wearing a pair of nice slacks and a polo and Billy really, _really_ wanted to dirty him up. To ruin him with the grease and grime on his own work clothes. That’s what he did—he ruined pretty things, and Steve, well, he was _pretty_.

 

            “What is power steering?” Steve squatted down next to Billy’s head and smiled. Billy felt that heat rush through his body. It didn’t matter that they were both out of school and had been going at it together for a while now, or that he had rented out the place on top of the shop with a promise to be his own handy-man. Steve made his toes curl in his steel-toed boots (not that he told him that).

 

            “When you turn the wheel, power steering helps you by controlling the wheels. Without power steering, you’re turning the wheels yourself.” Billy didn’t want to get into the actual mechanics of it because Steve would zone out on him (not that he meant to, but this wasn’t his niche). “Mine is leaking fucking _everywhere_. Might as well just tear it out.”

 

            “And what you’re saying is you have to be strong to not have power steering,” Steve reached out and squeezed one of Billy’s biceps. He grinned as Billy rolled his eyes.

 

            “Technically, no, but it helps.” Billy flexed under Steve’s hand and grinned at the pink that began popping up on Steve’s neck and cheeks. “If you’re not strong, you will be after ripping it out. Get you some muscles.”

 

            “I have muscles,” Steve protested and Billy scooted just enough so he could wrap an arm around Steve’s waist and yank him on top of his hips. Steve yelped and then whined. “ _William_. You’re going to ruin my damned clothes!”

 

            “Isn’t there a washer for that?” Billy mused. He pushed onto his elbows and tipped his head so he could catch Steve’s lips with his own. He was sure he smelled like grease and dirt and cars, but Steve kissed him back just as eagerly as he did after a shower.

 

            “You mean me?” Steve grumbled and Billy laughed.

 

            They didn’t have a lot. The apartment above them was small and Billy worked too much and Steve didn’t like working for his dad. They only bought what they absolutely necessary, but the jar sitting in their room with _California_ written across it in cursive continued to fill. One day, Billy would be kissing Steve on the beach and not in some garage in the middle of Nowhere, Indiana.

 

            But for now, Billy guessed that this, with Steve—this was okay.

 


	6. I Need You (To Control Me)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Billy needs to unravel, to burst free of his skin, but he can't just _do that_. He needs Steve's help.
> 
> Warning: Steve is dominant (dom/sub play).

Prompt 6: I Need You (To Control Me)

 

            Sometimes, Billy needed to let go, and that was difficult.  
  
  


            Sometimes, Billy needed to be _controlled_ because his hold had been too tight for too long, and Steve Harrington was perfect for that. Steve knew, too. He knew when Billy showed up, wild eyed and on the brink of bursting at the seams, what Billy needed.  
  
  


            Steve _knew_.  
  
  


            Which was why Billy was bent over the couch, arms angled so that his wrists rested against the small of his back, kept there by the leather of Steve’s belt. He was leaning on the balls of his feet, the tips of his boots digging into the carpet as Steve pushed a hand between his shoulder blades, bending him almost in half. He was stretched— _fullfullfull_ —and the burn in his shoulders from his arms being pulled back was on the side of bliss and just shy of discomfort.  
  
  


            But this is what Billy needed. He needed the barely restrained sex, the feel of his jeans on his thighs and the press of Steve’s polo against his bare back and arms. Billy had only managed to get his button down off before Steve had wrangled him against the couch and pinned him down, and Billy _liked_ that they were too heated, too riled, to undress completely.  
  
  


            Every thrust pushed him forward, and if the couch wasn’t so heavy, _real mahogany_ , it might have been nudged forward. Billy almost laughed at the thought, but he knew it was because he was half delirious, half desperate. He couldn’t push back onto Steve’s cock. He couldn’t angle his body just right to feel that shock of blinding pleasure. He couldn’t bite or claw at Steve like he would normally do.  
  
  


            But Steve knew that, and he knew that Billy _needed_ it.  
  
  


            It made Billy’s skin feel hot, feel raw, feel _right_. His jaw worked, clenching and falling slack as Steve’s cock bottomed out again, stretching him, and he could feel the press of Steve’s jeans against his ass.  
  
  


            “Say it,” Steve murmured and Billy snarled as he twisted his wrists against the leather belt. “ _Say it_.” He didn’t move, seated inside of Billy, forcing him to feel full, to be achingly aware of the want bubbling low in his gut.  
  
  


            “Fuck you,” Billy spat and Steve knew that this was part of it, too. This resistance, the refusal to give.  
  
  


            Steve knew.  
  
  


            Billy felt Steve pull back, felt just his cockhead resting inside of his body. The urge to beg was there, at the tip of his tongue, but he held back even as he trembled under Steve’s hands and body. He was so close to giving, so close to relenting and allowing himself to fall apart. _So close_.  
  
  


            Steve _knew_.  
  
  


            “Billy,” Steve’s voice washed over him, firm, unyielding, and Billy closed his eyes. Tears stung at the corners. As Steve sank forward, spreadingspreading _spreading_ , Billy gasped and felt the first few tears slip from his eyes to the bridge of his nose.  
  
  


            “King,” Billy muttered and then whined as Steve pulled nearly all the way out again, leaving him empty.  
  
  


            “What?” Steve’s fingers pressed between his shoulder blades again, digging.  
  
  


            “ _King_ Steve,” Billy felt relief wash through him as Steve hummed, as he thrust back in and smoothed his hand over his back. His hand moved up, then, curling around the back of Billy’s neck and gripping just shy of too hard.  
  
  


            “Good,” Steve murmured. “You’re so good for me.”  
  
  


            All Billy heard was _so good_ and all he felt was the pressure of Steve’s fingers, the stretch of his cock inside of his body, and the immense relief of _letting go_. He went pliant, tension melting from his muscles as Steve fucked him against the couch, pleasure hitting him like the waves had in California, Steve’s body hot like the Californian sun.  
  
  


            Steve was as close to California as he could get.  
  
  


            And Steve _knew_ , even if those words never left Billy’s mouth.

 

 


	7. Not Done (Until I Say So)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve likes that, even as an Omega, Billy has the bite and bark of an alpha.
> 
> Warning: ABO, Omega Billy, Alpha Steve

Prompt 7: Not Done (Until I Say So)

 

            What Steve loved most about Billy was his tenacity—and not just on the court or against demogorgons or against anyone who _dared_ to say shit about him being an omega. No, Billy brought that tenacity to _bed_. He was anything but pliant, all hands and mouth and _demand_. The best was when Billy blindsided him like he had just minutes before. They had just gotten home from practice and showered (Billy would _not_ lie around in sweat and damp clothing, which Steve found amusing). He hadn’t even sat on the bed before Billy was on top of him. His hands skated over Steve’s shoulders, his sides, his hips, before he shoved him back and crawled on top of him.

 

            “Back,” Billy muttered and Steve complied, scooting until his back hit the head board. Billy followed, his shoulders moving in languid pulls, like a damned cat on the prowl. Steve tipped his head up and smirked. It grew as he smelled Billy’s arousal, smelled the slick that he knew was slipping over his thighs. When he reached for Billy, though, his hands were swatted and he laughed. “Not yet.”

 

            It was almost like a show at that point. Billy licked his lips, his blonde curls tumbling over his shoulders and his blue eyes glittering as he situated himself so Steve’s cock slid between the globes of his ass. He moved his hips slow and purposeful and tilted his head back, the earring falling back along with his hair. Steve had to grit his teeth as pleasure shot through his spine. Like this, with his cock sliding between the flesh of Billy’s ass, with how his back arched and his lips parted in a gasp, it was hard for Steve to keep his hands off.

 

            “Billy,” Steve warned, low and borderline aggressive as Billy continued to roll his hips. His breath caught again as the head of his cock managed to press inside of Billy _just enough_ before slipping back again. “You— _Billy_ —” Steve growled it out this time and Billy laughed.

 

            “Got you, alpha,” Billy finally tilted his head so they could make eye contact and his lips spread into a wicked grin. Then, he dipped down and Steve could taste himself on Billy from the shower, from when Billy had fallen to his knees and given Steve that same look. Billy was insatiable and Steve was _so okay_ with that. Their tongues slid together, teeth crashing, just this side of painful, as they kissed like they were starved for each other. And maybe they were.

 

            When Billy finally eased his hips up, when his hand trailed back to grip the base of Steve’s cock so he could sink down, Steve broke the kiss with another gasp. All he felt was warmth and heat and _slick_. Steve finally gave in and hooked an arm beneath Billy’s right thigh. He pulled him up just enough to grip, his fingers digging into his skin. He tucked his other hand against Billy’s back, supporting him as Billy continued to sink down until he was completely and utterly _filled_ with Steve.

 

            “Jesus,” Steve grit out and held still so Billy could settle. He wanted to rut, to thrust up and hold Billy’s hips just up enough so he could ravage him, but he stayed where he was and watched him, instead.

 

            “You like that?” Billy teased, and Steve could hear the triumph in his voice. _Brat_. “What if I just stayed here? Like this? Not moving at all? Think you can handle it?” He licked over his lips and Steve opened his eyes just enough to watch. He knew how good that tongue was, how hot his mouth was, and the teasing only made him snarl. His grip tightened on Billy’s thigh and his back, pulling him closer so that the angle of his cock shifted. It made Billy’s lips part, had his eyes glazing over just enough that he knew he had him where he wanted.

 

            Steve rut up once, twice, watching the expressions change on Billy’s face with each move. Finally, Billy whined, a noise that shot straight through Steve’s cock, and wrapped his arms around his shoulders. His fingers curled into Steve’s hair and tugged, and finally, _finally_ , Billy began to move. It wasn’t gentle or slow or careful, like he had done earlier to tease Steve. His hips moved with want, with need, quick, hard jerks up and down that pressed Steve into the headboard and pushed the air out of his lungs.

 

            “Full,” Billy gasped out and Steve tightened the grip again on his thigh. He could feel Billy’s spine arch, his back muscles trembling underneath his other hand as he continued to pivot his hips, sharp pulls back and needy shoves down. “Oh, _fuck_ , Steve. Sweetheart.” Steve felt Billy’s gasped breaths against his cheek, his lips. He saw the way Billy’s eyes shut, his dark lashes fanning over his cheeks, his eyebrows furrowed, even with how relaxed his jaw was, how open his lips were.

 

            Steve tilted his head and slotted their mouths together. He swallowed down Billy’s whines as he moved, desperate now for release. Steve could _hear_ it in the way he breathed, how his thighs parted just so, how, when he was close, his hips would tilt back and to the right. Steve new Billy’s body like the path he walked in the woods—the dips in the Earth, the fallen branches, the trickles of streams. Billy was his escape and he made it his mission to find what made him come undone, what made him unravel.

 

            “I’ve got you,” Steve murmured and felt the shudder that shook Billy’s whole body. It _always_ did. Little sayings, things that dug deep and made Billy feel _wanted_ , even with all the power and control, broke him apart and pulled him back together.

 

            “Bite,” Billy pleaded against Steve’s mouth. “Bite me, _please_.”

 

            Steve shifted his hand from Billy’s back to his jaw and tilted his head to the side. He kept a tight grip there, knew it both settled and drove Billy insane. He dropped his head so he could lick over the mark he had left. Billy’s hips stuttered and then rolled again. When he licked again, Billy hissed and tugged impatiently at his hair. It almost made Steve laugh. Instead, he parted his lips and sank his teeth into Billy’s neck.

 

            The heat around Steve’s cock clamped down and trembled, and he could feel Billy come against his stomach and chest. He continued to move, riding Steve through his orgasm, gasping his name between moans and whimpers. When Billy stopped moving, when his body became limp and all he could do was clutch Steve’s shoulder and his hair, Steve chuckled.

 

            “You think you’re done?” Steve asked, low and laced with promise.

 

 


	8. Piercing Play

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Billy doesn't realize just how sensitive his nipple piercings were until Steve.
> 
> The _asshole_.
> 
> Warnings: Piercings

 Prompt 8: Piercing Play

 

               While Steve obsessed over the piercing on Billy’s cock, he had unforgivingly ignored the ones on his nipples. He hadn’t even _realized_ how sensitive Billy was until they were wrestling in his pool and his nail grazed over one. Billy’s breath caught, his abs constricted, and his eyes popped wide. Steve noticed immediately, grinned to himself, and then pushed Billy up against the pool siding. Billy grunted and then laughed, but it was promptly cut off by Steve’s lips, hot and eager and wet.

 

                “Steve,” Billy huffed against his mouth and Steve hummed. He licked into Billy’s mouth, over his tongue piercing, and then pulled back to bite his lower lip. “Christ, I thought we were _swimming_.”

 

                “We were,” Steve licked his own lips and grasped Billy’s hips. His thumbs pressed in just beside Billy’s hip bones, pinning him back against the pool wall. “We _are_ ,” Steve corrected as he dipped down. His knees bent in the water so he could drag the flat of his tongue over the barbell that sat through Billy’s left nipple. The ragged breath and hiss from Billy made Steve’s cock twitch. He swept his tongue over the metal piece again and then clipped his teeth just enough to tug. Billy arched his back and moaned, his hands scrabbling for purchase on Steve’s biceps as he continued to lick and tug at his piercings.

 

                “ _Steve_ ,” Billy repeated, voice strained, half-irritable and half-pleased. “What the hell are you doing?”

 

                “Touching,” Steve looked up and caught Billy’s eyes. The pupils were blown wide and the blue was darkened with lust. “You seem to like it.” He moved to the other nipple and tugged at the piercing there. Billy hissed and sank his teeth over his lower lip.

 

                “You really—you gotta stop—” Billy tightened his grip on Steve’s arms.

 

                “Why?” Billy seemed to like it. He twitched and squirmed as Steve continued to lick and pull and breathe hot air over his nipples. It wasn’t until Billy whimpered and curled forward, his nails digging into his biceps, did Steve realize the _why_.

 

                “You _came_? Just from—” Steve stared and his cock strained against his swim trunks.

 

                “Shut up,” Billy snapped, but Steve pinned him against the wall again and licked into his mouth. Billy panted against him, still half-dazed and what looked like a little angry from Steve finding out just _how_ sensitive he was.

 

                “I like it,” Steve murmured against Billy’s lips. “I like that it’s that good for you.”

 

                Billy’s eyes skated off to the side and his lips pursed. “Men shouldn’t—”

 

                “Who gives a fuck? You like it. I like it. Can you imagine,” Steve pressed close and grinned. “Me fucking you while playing with them? Come on, Billy. I’d spread you so good and just stay there and you’d come and I wouldn’t even have to _move_ —”

 

                “Fuck,” Billy pushed at him and pointed at the house, impatient in a way that was almost cute. “That better not be a fucking threat.”

 

                “It’s not, Billy. It’s a _promise_.”


	9. My Status (I Hate It)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Billy does everything he can against his natural instincts as on omega.

Prompt 9: My Status (I Hate It)

 

 

            The strangest thing about Billy being an omega, Steve thought, was how vehemently he went against his own instincts. He _adamantly_ denied that he smelled sweet or that his thighs got slick whenever Steve nosed his neck and licked over the puncture marks he left there regularly. It doesn’t matter if Steve was desperate for Billy to roll over and present. It wasn’t something Billy would _do_. _Ever_. Even in the heat of the moment, the second his body began to urge him onto his knees, Billy would bite or scratch Steve’s shoulders and back until he bled.

 

            It wasn’t until Steve had to go with his parents on “vacation” to one of his dad’s offices that Billy showed even an ounce of his instincts. Steve had been walking away after they kissed, ready to get in his car and leave, and that’s when he heard it—the hitch of Billy’s breath, the sweet smell of his need. Steve turned, then, and suddenly had a very needy Billy in his arms—all lips and teeth and _please_. There was also a more tangy scent there—fear. Fear that Steve would leave, fear that he would realize his potential and _leave_ his mate. Fear that Steve would realize what trash Billy was in comparison. It was unfounded, but Steve wasn’t surprised. He had spent the next hour in Billy’s car, unraveling him, making him pant and beg and _whine_. Leaving him there was still difficult.

 

            After a week of more disappointment and _I taught you better than this_ from his dad, Steve was ready to pull his hair out. All he wanted when he got home (his parents had stayed, thank _god_ ) was to sleep and then find Billy the next morning so he could just _touch him_. That’s all he needed. Wanted. As he trudged up the steps, exhausted and still tingling from residual anger and guilt, Billy’s smell wafted over him. He paused, hand on the railing and eyes on the hallway.

 

            Billy, when he wanted something, found a way to get it. It didn’t surprise Steve to smell him, to know he had crawled through his window (which Steve had purposefully left unlocked because _fuck Neil, that’s why_ ). What did surprise him, though, was the scene in front of him when he got to his room. A week went by and it apparently had messed with Billy enough that he was—he was _cocooned_ in Steve’s comforter. It wasn’t just that, though. All Steve could see were tufts of blonde curls spilling out of one of his hoodies. And Billy was _covered_ in his hoodies. There wasn’t an inch of his skin showing.

 

            Steve smiled. Billy had _nested_ in _his_ bed, and he doubted he meant to get caught like this. It was, after all, an instinctual thing. He walked forward until he could lean over to tuck the hood away from Billy’s head. Beneath it, dark eyelashes fanned over tan cheeks, lips parted in hushed sounds as he slept. When Steve kissed his forehead, he could feel Billy’s eyebrows furrow and knew his nose had scrunched up with it.

 

            “S’op it,” Billy groused and buried his face into one of the extra hoodies lying at his side. Steve laughed and sat down next to Billy’s head. He carded his fingers through his hair and looked, again, over at the nest that he had built around himself.

 

            “You know, if I wasn’t sure you weren’t, I’d say you were pregnant,” Steve mused. It was probably good that Billy was buried beneath covers and clothes. Being punched wasn’t something he was fond of, and he could tell by the disgruntled noise that Billy was _definitely_ thinking about doing it.

 

            “Who says I’m not?” Billy replied and Steve’s eyes snapped down to his lips, where they curled in a teasing grin.

 

            “Ohmy _god_ , don’t fucking say shit like that, man,” Steve laughed and ducked down to kiss away the grin on Billy’s face.

 

            “Y’started it,” Billy managed to free one of his hands and grabbed Steve’s jaw. In one quick move, he licked a stripe over his cheek and then buried himself back under the blanket. Steve made a noise close to _ew_ followed by _motherfucker_ before he wiped his face off.

 

            “Scoot over, asshole. I’m exhausted and you’re exactly what I need right now,” Steve made quick work of his clothes and, after some encouraging nudges, was able to climb into Billy’s cocoon with him.

 

            Within seconds, Steve was out, his arms wrapped around Billy’s waist and his lips close to his hair. He would never admit that he had dreams about blue-eyed babies with curly, brown hair.

 

 


	10. Pretty as the Stars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve broke up with Billy months ago, and the ache is still there.
> 
> Warnings: Pot use, Kind of happy ending

Prompt 10: Pretty as the Stars

 

                Billy felt the ache in his chest like a physical force—hot and cold and twisted. He watched the smoke from his joint float above his head, into the sky. The stars were bright above the quarry. Too bright. Too _pretty_. Pretty like the boy who had sank his fingers into his chest and ripped his heart out. Pretty like his brown eyes with gold flecks and his too-big hair. Pretty like his lips, which were fuller than any persons should be. Pretty like the smile that dimpled his cheeks or the sound of his laughter. Just. Pretty.

 

                The stars were as pretty as Steve Harrington and the sky was as dark and all-consuming as Billy was—threatening to swallow them up and, in a way, preventing them from seeing daylight. It was ominous, but the stars were so bright against that darkness, and maybe that’s why Billy had gravitated to Steve. Maybe he thought Steve’s brightness could chase out his darkness.

 

                That was laughable.

 

                He took another long drag on the joint and thought back to two months prior. Steve was heading off to college, was telling him long distance _didn’t work_ and what if Billy _met_ someone while he was gone. Billy wanted to scream, wanted to throw shit, wanted to accuse Steve of _finding someone_ because here in little ol’ Hawkins, who is he going to find? No one. Absolutely-fucking-no-one. But in Chicago? At the University nestled in the middle of the city? Billy _knew_ the kind of people there. They would eat up Steve like he was one of those candies that melted the moment it hit a person’s tongue. He was that sweet, that pliant, that _good_.

 

                Billy had refused to let Steve walk away from him. He did the walking, instead. He slammed the door to his Camaro and peeled out of Steve’s driveway. The rubber marks were still there. That was two months ago and Billy still had a year left of high school. A year of posturing, of pretending like he gave a fuck, of acting like he wanted to be surrounded by people who didn’t have two fucking brain cells to rub together, like he liked having girls on his dick twenty-four-seven. He had a year left and then he could get the hell out and forget Steve’s big hands and his warm smile and his too-expensive cologne.

 

                Except, Billy wasn’t stupid. He knew he would continue to do this—sit in the quarry and watch the stars and wonder, distantly, if Steve was watching them, too. Maybe he couldn’t see them with the light pollution in Chicago. Did he wish he could? Was he sleeping? Did he hurt as much as Billy did? Did he even _know_ what ruins he left behind? Did he _care_?

 

                Billy was way too high for this shit.

 

                He had school the next day and, really, he shouldn’t be doing this. He shouldn’t be, but he was, and wasn’t that his entire fucking life? Doing things he shouldn’t. Ignoring being a _responsible, respectable_ young man. Maybe if he had been born differently—

 

                And that was a road he _wasn’t_ going down. Fuck that. Neil could take just about anything from him, but what little fucking self-worth he had was going to stay intact, even if it was haphazardly glued together after Steve left. He was still _Billy Hargrove_ and he still had _something_ going for him. He was smart enough to get into good schools. He was good enough at basketball for scholarships. He would _go somewhere_.

               

                “Shouldn’t you be partying or something?” The voice that broke the silence, that cracked what little composure Billy had, crashed over his body like a tidal wave. It lit up his lungs and put more smoke in his head than the weed ever could.

 

                But his heart was somewhere on Steve’s driveway, dry and rotted and _gone_.

 

                “Shouldn’t you be in Chicago?” Billy bit back and he hated that he sounded angry, that he sounded like anything _at all_.

 

                “Fall break,” Steve’s eyes were on him. He could _feel_ them.

 

                “Let me clarify—what the _fuck_ are you doing here?” Billy pushed himself up and ignored how the world turned, how it slowly righted itself thanks to the high he had going.

 

                “Max told me—”

 

                “Max told me,” Billy mocked and then laughed. He slid off his hood and caught his boots in the gravel. As he stood, he pinched the joint in two fingers and turned to look at Steve. “Don’t fucking tell me _how_ you got here. _Why_ are you here?”

 

                “It’s your birthday,” Steve hesitated and Billy heard the _why aren’t you partying_ and the _why aren’t you with family_ but he _knew_ why.

 

                “One person remembered,” Billy mused and took another long drag. The smoke filled his lungs, filled his head, gave him that extra help to sweep his emotions under the rug.  “How _sweet_ of you, Harrington.”

 

                “Look, Billy—”

 

                “No. _No_. It’s Hargrove, asshole. _Billy_ ended when you decided _we_ ended.”

 

                “I was wrong!” Steve shouted it and Billy froze. He looked around, eyes darting as paranoia began to settle in his skin.

 

                “Keep your fucking voice down,” Billy hissed.

 

                “No! Let me talk. I was _wrong_ , and I should have given us a _chance_ , but all I could think about was _Nancy_ and—”

 

                “Still not Wheeler,” Billy grit his teeth and felt that muscle tick in his jaw. The Nancy shtick was getting old. He couldn’t count the number of times he had to prove Steve’s doubts wrong. He couldn’t count the number of times he had to point out that he _wasn’t Wheeler_. It had become exhausting, and by the time Steve said they couldn’t, that long distance wouldn’t work, Billy had been at the end of the rope trying to _prove_ he wasn’t Wheeler, that he had eyes for _just_ Steve.

 

                “I know that!” Steve scrubbed his hand over his face and then placed his hands on his hips. Billy saw the way they dug into his jeans, knew how tight Steve was holding his body from experience. He hated that he knew.

 

                “Is that my birthday present?” Billy sneered. “That you know I’m not Nancy fucking Wheeler? Congratulations. Great present, Harrington. Really appreciate it.”

 

                “Billy—” Steve moved forward, faster than Billy could track (fuck being high and trying to be serious, god _damn_ ), and grabbed his arms. Billy scowled and yanked back, but Steve’s hold was firm and his eyes were wide and he looked _tired_ this close. He looked tired and worn out and _lonely_.

 

                _Serves him right_ Billy heard in the back of his head. The poisonous part of him—the one that doubted everyone and everything, no matter how altruistic—had slowly bled out when he and Steve had been together. Now it was back with a vengeance. Angry. Broken. _Betrayed_. And with new fuel.

 

                “Please, just hear me out,” Steve squeezed his arms and Billy missed his hands. They were big on his arms, circling his biceps despite how big they were, despite how much Billy worked out. “ _Please_?”

 

                Even this tired, Steve was still just as pretty as the stars. Billy watched him, heard the _please_ , and felt himself give in. _Fuck_.

 

                “I have one joint left,” Billy muttered. “You have until we finish it.”

 

                The way Steve’s face lit up when Billy said _we_ shouldn’t have swept him off his feet, but it did, and Billy knew that he was in just as much trouble as he had been in on the day he had drunkenly kissed Steve behind Stacey Miller’s house. If not more.

 

                But, like the idiot he was, he settled on the Camaro next to Steve and lit up the second joint. Instead of talking, though, they sat in silence and stared up at the sky. Eventually, Steve didn’t take the offered joint, and Billy looked over only to find him asleep, exhaustion written across his face and his body.

 

                “Missed you, too, pretty boy,” Billy murmured and looked back up to the sky as he dragged his fingers through Steve’s messy hair. No matter what, Steve’s body, his appearance, gave him away, and Billy knew he had just as many hard nights as Billy had. Maybe more.

 

                So, Billy would let Steve sleep. He would let him sleep and they would talk when he woke, and Billy would roll his eyes at Steve’s complaint about being sore because he fell asleep on the fucking _hood_ of his Camaro. But he would listen, and maybe, just maybe, he would be able to go back and pick up his heart off of Steve’s driveway.


	11. Is Something Wrong (With Me)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Billy comes to the same place twice--once at the end of his rope, and once at the beginning of a new life.

Prompt 11: Is Something Wrong (With Me)

 

**Part 1**

_Something is wrong with you_.

 

            Billy laughed, a bark of a noise that ended in a dry sob. The taste of blood in his mouth didn’t help. The pulsing in his cheek that would no doubt be a pretty purple later on reminding him that there _was_ something wrong with him. His dad was right. He was always right. If he wasn’t right, why would everyone look at him like he was a monster? A piece of shit? Something that could be scraped from the bottom of a boot?

 

            If there wasn’t something wrong with him, why did his mom leave him behind? Why would she do that, knowing how rough Neil’s hands could be? How hard his kicks landed? Billy settled an arm over his face and pursed his lips. He had forgotten his jacket in the house, had stumbled out with a ‘ _Yes, sir_ ’ after being told to get lost, to get out of his sight. _There’s something wrong with you_.

 

            His mom knew he had moved to Hawkins, Indiana. She knew the phone number to the house. She _knew_. But she never called. No letters. Nothing. Because there was something wrong with him, right? If there wasn’t, wouldn’t she have talked to him? Spoken to him? Wanted _anything_ to do with him?

 

            No, because there was something wrong with him. Maybe she knew he would end up just like Neil. Maybe she saw his violence before it had started. Maybe she hated him, too.

 

            Billy lurched himself forward, off his hood, and stumbled toward the edge of the cliff that overlooked the quarry. He stared down at the water, his choppy breaths forming small clouds in front of his face. His toes shifted on the ledge and panic settled into his gut. He couldn’t, even if he wanted to. He couldn’t take that step because there was… something wrong with him. Instead, he sank down onto his ass and hung his legs over the side.

 

            “I’m sorry,” Billy said into the night, his voice breaking. “I’m sorry I’m a fuck up. I’m sorry I’m not good enough. I’m sorry I can’t be who you want me to be. I’m sorry there’s something wrong with me. I’m even sorry that I like boys. I’m _sorry_. I’m sorry I’m unlovable. I’m sorry. _I’m sorry_.”

 

            Because he was Billy Hargrove, and talking to people wasn’t okay, but talking out here? To the black sky? The glittering stars? The sounds of animals in the woods and the music in his Camaro?

 

            “I’m sorry,” It sounded like a plea. Not an apology. Like it could fix him.

 

            But nothing could fix him because there was something innately wrong with him.

            

* * *

 

**Part 2**

 

            More than five years ago, Billy had been ready to step off the ledge. Well, ready, but not brave enough. He stared down at the water, and as he breathed, he couldn’t see his breath. It was June; instead of being cold, it was sticky hot. It clung to his skin, even if all he wore was a pair of his jeans and a tank. He looked from the water to the sky and breathed in. Up here, so far from quarry, he could still taste the water in the air. The woods came in at a close second, and then, there was that cologne. Not his own.

 

            As arms wrapped around him from behind, Billy smiled. He glanced over his shoulder as Harrington pressed a kiss to his bare shoulder.

 

            “What are you doing?” Steve stroked his fingers through his hair and Billy closed his eyes.

 

            “Not apologizing,” Billy murmured.

 

            “To who?” Steve furrowed his brows.

 

            “I…” Billy pulled his lower lip through his teeth and then opened his eyes again to look down at the quarry. “My dad? My mom? Everyone, I guess.”

 

            “They don’t deserve it.”

 

            “ _You_ do.”

 

            “You apologized a long time ago.”

 

            “I know, but…” Billy reached into his pocket and fingered the piece of jewelry there. It was five years since he felt like his world was crumbling. Five years and he was still here in Hawkins, Indiana, where it smelled like shit and everyone knew everyone.

 

            “But what, baby?”

 

            Billy’s heart fluttered. It did every time Steve called him by some ridiculous pet name, even four years, nine months, and a couple weeks later.

 

            He wasn’t counting.

 

            “Steve…” Billy turned around in Steve’s arms and gently pushed at his chest. As Steve stepped back, Billy dropped himself down to one knee. His mind raced as Steve stared at him, his stomach twisting with emotion and his lungs burning. “I know—fuck. I planned this out and I just—I can’t even—” he pulled the simple piece of jewelry out of his pocket. “I had a speech and everything and I—and I—”

 

            “Jesus, Billy,” Steve laughed, but it was wet with tears. “Of course. Yes. _Yes_.”

 

            “Thank god.”

 

            New memories. He was making _new_ memories in the worst places.

 

            This… this he wasn’t sorry for.


	12. Soak Me In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve finds Billy in the middle of a rainstorm.

Prompt 12: Soak Me In

 

            The football game was canceled. It’s not something that Steve cared about. No, what he cared about was the car parked in the student lot. Its lights were still beaming forward but the door was open, the interior being soaked by the downpour that prevented the game from being played. When Billy hadn’t shown up to his place, like they had planned, Steve knew something was wrong. The pit of his stomach twisted and he had grabbed his keys, not caring about getting soaked, and headed off to find his lover.

 

            Steve grabbed the umbrella from his passenger seat after parking the BMW. He pulled himself out of his car, shut the door, and opened up the umbrella. After jogging to check on the Camaro, he shut the door and looked around. It was difficult to see. The sheets of rain were so fierce that he felt like a person could drown standing up.

 

            He began to walk, his shoes sinking into the grass as he made his way across the front lawn. It wasn’t until he caught sight of the football field that he saw a blurred figure. The lights were on, having already been set up, and in the middle of it all, Billy stood, soaked, head tilted back and hands fisted at his sides.

 

            It was pouring. It was dark. Steve could barely see Billy, but he was still so fucking beautiful.

 

            As Steve neared Billy, he slowed and then stopped. Five feet stood between them.

 

            “Billy,” Steve called and as Billy turned around, Steve refused to look away. Refused to not see the split lip, the bruised cheek, the wild look in his eyes. “Hey, sweetheart.”

 

            Billy didn’t respond; Steve didn’t expect him to. He never did. Not like this. He walked forward, slowly, as if approaching a wounded dog. Billy would bolt, would break under the pressure and leave Steve in the middle of the field, uncertain of himself and the world. Steve wasn’t willing to let him do that.

 

            “Hey, sweetheart,” Steve repeated and then eased the umbrella off to the side. The rain was warm as it soaked through his hair, drenched his clothes, ran over his face and dripped from his eyelashes. He dropped the umbrella to the side and braced himself as Billy lunged, his strong arms wrapping around his chest and hauling him up close. They didn’t stay on their feet, though. Billy fell to his knees first and took Steve with them.

 

            Billy’s lips were suddenly on his, and Steve could barely breathe, drowning in the storm and in lover’s mouth. He slid his fingers into Billy’s soaked hair as Billy cupped his face in his palms. They kissed like there wasn’t going to be a tomorrow, like the next five minutes weren’t guaranteed, like Neil and the Upside Down were going to take them down and they wouldn’t have a chance to touch each other again.

 

            Their lips were slippery in the rain, their breaths drowned out by the sheer force of the water pounding on them and the ground. Neither cared, neither noticed. Their whole world revolved around each other and Steve wouldn’t have it any other way.

 

            When he did finally pull back, panting, Steve watched the wildness drain out of Billy’s expression and smiled. “There you are.”


	13. Letting It (You) Go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Billy has parting words for his dad.
> 
> Warning: Character Death

Prompt 13: Letting It (You) Go

 

 

            “I’ll never be what you want me to be. I’ll always disappoint you, and for so long, it bothered me. I wanted to be _right_. I wanted to be normal. I wanted to be the kid you wanted. I just… wasn’t.” Billy stared at the grass, his heart thumping wildly against his chest.

 

            “I never had the guts to tell you, and I wish I had. You were so fucking scary,” he laughed then, but it was wet, choked off by the tears that began to burn in his eyes. He blinked and looked up at the sky so that the tears wouldn’t fall.

 

            They did, anyway.

 

            “I’m learning to accept it, though. To not hate myself for it, I guess? I didn’t turn out the way _you_ wanted me to, but that doesn’t mean that I’m… garbage.” Billy breathed the last word, tasted the sourness of it, and fought the urge to swipe away the tears on his cheeks.

 

            “Shit. _Fuck_. The only reason I’m here is because she told me it would make a difference. Therapy, can you believe it? I wonder if it would have been different if you had gone after mom died. If we had… gone together. Maybe you wouldn’t have hated me so much.”

 

            When Billy’s eyes fell on the gravestone, his stomach turned.

 

            “You dying before… I could say all of this really pisses me off, but being mad at a dead guy is insane. Isn’t it? It has to be. It’s _insane_.” Billy pressed the heel of his palm against his eye and hated that his shoulders began to shake, that the quiet tears became sobs.

 

            “And I fucking _hate_ you because I still _love_ you and how fucked up is that? You hurt me… you made me someone I hated. You created a fucking monster and I let you.” He breathed out slowly, choppily, and shook his head. “She tells me not to say that, though. She tells me a lot of things. I believe half of it, at least. I think Harrington believes the other half. Or all of it. He’s a fucking sap when it comes to this shit.”

 

            Billy pressed his lips together and nudged his sneaker against the grass. It had been long enough since he had seen the grave for the it to be lush, long, but bare. No flowers, no remembrance.

 

            “I guess the real reason why I’m here is to tell you that I’m getting married. To a guy. He’s… breathtaking. Gorgeous. Understanding. Way too good for me, but _shit_ , do _Mom_ would have loved him.” Billy chewed at the inside of his cheek and shrugged. “I love him. And he… he loves me, and… I’m okay with that. I’m _okay_ with someone loving me.”

 

            He took a long breath in and exhaled just as slowly. “And I’m okay with letting you go.”


	14. Sick Mess

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve is a sick mess and Billy is just trying to deal.

Prompt 14: Sick Mess

 

            “Lubb me,” Steve whined and Billy couldn’t help the smirk that tugged at his lips. He pulled the thermometer out of Steve’s mouth and shook his head.

 

            “No can do, amigo. You’ve got a fever,” Billy stood from the couch and his eyes dropped to Steve, who was in a pathetic pile of blankets and a single pillow.

 

            “No, _lubb_.” Christ. Steve was congested to the point of slurred words, his eyes glazed with fever and his skin clammy. He was flapping his hand around, as if emphasizing his point, and Billy shook his head.

 

            “I’m not fucking you while—” Billy grunted as Steve caught him by his shirt and yanked him down. He blinked into those glassy eyes.

 

            “Lubb you,” Steve mumbled and a mix of warmth and fear sliced through Billy’s body. This wasn’t their normal routine. Meet up on a Saturday. Fuck until it was time for Billy to slip out of Steve’s bed. Make terrible remarks to each other at school and do it all over again. Wash. Rinse. Repeat.

 

            _Lubb_ wasn’t in that mess.

 

            “Yeah, yeah,” Billy muttered and didn’t fail to notice how his voice choked. “Fucking sleep, Steve. I’ll make you some soup.” He pressed his lips to Steve’s forehead despite the sheen of sweat. After those eyes closed, Billy straightened and ran his fingers through his hair. The even, if clogged, breathing let him know that Steve had tumbled into another fit of rest.

 

            “Love you, too, asshole.”


	15. Truth: El Style

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> El talks to Billy while Hopper patches Steve up. Billy will never admit how smart he thinks she is.
> 
> Warning: Blood

Prompt 15: Truth: El Style

 

            Billy’s shirt was sticky and wet and _cold_. The red, a startling contrast to the white of his button-up, made him nauseous. It didn’t belong there—not on him. Never on him. Never from _him_. He sat shivering on the stoop of a cabin in the middle of the fucking woods, his hands shaking too much to hold his cigarette, even after he was done pulling in a lungful of nicotine. He could hear the quiet banter of the kids inside, the low baritone of the sheriff, and the worried tone of Joyce Byers.  
  
  


            It wasn’t supposed to end up this way. Truly, _Billy_ should be the one that Hopper was working on with a thread and needle. But Steve was selfless and _always_ put himself last unless, of course, it was in the face of danger. That asshole had taken a hit for Billy, had pushed him onto the ground before one of those fucking things had taken him down, scoring his shoulder and chest with its claws.  
  
  


            Steve’s scream still sang in his skull, vibrating the roots of his teeth and making his tongue feel too big for his mouth. Billy had been quick to get it off him, using his make-shift blow torch of Aqua Net and a Zippo lighter, to fry its head into nothing but crisp tar, but not before Steve was a bloody mess. Not before he was delirious and mumbling Billy’s name like a distant prayer.  
  
  


            Their relationship was still new, still taking root—a seed in wet soil was still cracking open. Certainly not enough for Steve to be acting like Billy mattered _that_ much. It drew short, pained breaths out of him as he gathered Steve into his arms and lifted him off the ground. The kids were there in an instant, Max grabbing his bat and Dustin on Billy’s heels as he carried him to the car.  
  
  


            There had been a lot of shouting in the Beemer, Max at the wheel and Billy in the back with Steve sprawled out in his lap. Billy was getting covered in blood, the upholstery was getting covered, but all he could do was cup Steve’s face and call him an asshole and demand that he stay _here with him_.

 

            Max had managed to get them to Hopper’s, and Billy’s involvement ended there. He couldn’t be in the same room, too on edge and desperate for Steve to _stop bleeding_. Not to mention, he had no right. At least, not in the eyes of those brats.  
  
  


            “Billy?”  
  
  


            “ _Christ_ ,” Billy flinched and the cigarette dropped from his lips and into his lap. He reached down and snatched it before it could burn through his jeans. “What, kid?”  
  
  


            Hopper’s girl—Jane? El?—sat down next to him, her brown curls bobbing as she did. She tucked her knees to her chest and gazed into the woods. There was something otherworldly that surrounded her, and the way she could look at Billy like she could see into him and sometimes completely through him left his teeth on edge.  
  
  


            “Steve…” She paused and pursed her lips. “Will be okay.”  
  
  


            “Thanks for that motivational speech, kid,” Billy pinched the filter between his fingers and kept his eyes on the stairs that led to the grass.  
  
  


            “You care.” Her head tilted toward him and he frowned.  
  
  


            “Yeah. Well. Who else is going to help me get the team to state?” Billy grit his teeth as she watched him, her brown eyes soft and warm and _so_ like his mother’s.  
  


            “Friends don’t lie,” she told him evenly and he laughed, short and harsh.  
  
  


            “We’re not friends.”  
  
  


            “Could be.”  
  
  


            “You don’t want to be friends with me, kid.”  
  
  


            “El,” she said, “My name. It’s El.”  
  
  


            “ _Okay_ , El. You don’t want to be my friend.”  
  
  


            “Why?”  
  
  


            Frustration made Billy’s blood boil.  
  
  


            “ _Because_.”  
  
  


            “ _Wuh-i_?” She drawled and smiled at the noise he made, low in his throat.  
  
  


            “You’re annoying,” Billy huffed and took a drag of his cigarette. Her smile widened.  
  
  


            “Lie,” El stated calmly and Billy was going to rip his hair out.  
  
  


            “Fine. _Fine_. I care about him, okay?”  
  
  


            “Truth.”  
  
  


            “A lot.”  
  
  


            “Truth.”  
  
  


            “As a _friend_.”  
  
  


            “Lie.”  
  
  


            Billy wanted to hit his head against something. Hard. Repeatedly.  
  
  


            “Okay,” he breathed slowly through his nose and tried to fight the bout of nausea from the stickiness of his shirt against his chest. He opened his mouth, but El put a hand on his forearm and squeezed.  
  
  


            “You don’t have to tell me,” El’s smile softened. “I can see it. But you need to tell _him_ when he wakes up.”  
  
  


            “He knows.”  
  
  


            “Lie.”  
  
  


            “God dammit,” Billy groaned.  
  
  


            “He needs to know,” El insisted.  
  
  


            “Why? He has all of you,” Billy narrowed his eyes on her and her smile turned sad.  
  
  


            “He’s lonely.”  
  
  


            “Fuck.”  
  
  


            “ _Very_ lonely,” El looked at him and Billy felt like he was being trapped.  
  
  


            “Okay. Fine.” Billy closed his eyes and thought of Steve’s smile. Of his laugh. Of that stupid way that his hair sometimes flopped in front of his face after his precious hair spray failed him. He thought about how he slept better at his side, or how they both laughed far too much at stupid jokes because _they_ told them, not because they were funny. Finally, he thought of the warmth that curled around him and soothed that monster in his chest whenever Steve touched his hands or his wrists as their lips met. “I’ll tell him.”  
  
  


            “Truth.”


	16. Toaster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They've got an apartment, and now they've got a toaster, and Billy has no idea why Steve won't come near it.

Prompt 16: The Toaster

 

 

            The apartment is small, but then again, they don’t need much. Steve knew Billy was minimalistic, and he was happy to indulge him. Besides, Billy was, in a way, bigger than the apartment could ever be. The life he carried around with him filled each space down to the crevices, and Steve _loved_ it.

 

            So, the apartment might be small and the area of town might not be the best, but it was _theirs_ and Billy seemed pumped about it. It was harder to see that with him than it was with Steve, who hid his emotions as well as Billy buttoned his shirt, but the light in his ocean-blue eyes and the little quirk on his lips made it obvious.

 

            Steve propped the window open in the bedroom and breathed in. The saltiness that came through the window made him smile. If anyone had asked if he would have moved to California more than a year ago, he would have laughed at them. Now? The view of the city and the smell of the ocean felt like home because it represented someone who held him through his nightmares and tucked his wayward hair behind his ears when he was stressing about his future.

 

            “Hey, dickhead!”

 

            Steve sighed. Billy was still an asshole, but his love for the blonde seemed to have smoothed out some of his rough edges. _Some_. He turned from the window and padded out of the bedroom.

 

            “What, Bi—” Steve made a noise in the back of his throat as he watched Billy set up the toaster.

 

            “Your mom sent us this thing. It’s super high-tech and I have no idea how to use it. Hell, you don’t even know how to make _toast_ , so we gotta—” Billy was rambling but Steve was staring at the contraption. His face burned and he huffed.

 

            “I don’t like toast!” Steve threw his hands into the air.

 

            “That’s a fuckin’ lie,” Billy stood and Steve watched those blue eyes analyze him—look him over as if he was trying to find an answer to a question that wasn’t being asked. “You eat toast at the diner in Hawkins all the time.”

 

            “Okay. So I don’t like _making_ toast.”

 

            “It’s a button, Steve. One button.”

 

            “I’ll burn it,” Steve hadn’t stepped any closer, but he had crossed his arms over his chest and kicked his jaw to the side.

 

            “You’re being petulant,” Billy replied slowly and Steve squinted.

 

            “Big word coming fr—” Before Steve could finish, Billy was on him and they were both on the ground. “No! I take it back!” Steve _squealed_. He fucking squealed because Billy was tickling his sides. He writhed on the floor and shoved at his chest. “Get off! No! Please! _Stop it_!” He had ended up wheezing at some point in between his laughter, kicking out and twisting under Billy’s broader body.

 

            “I give!” Billy stopped immediately and Steve flopped on the ground. He panted and stared at the ceiling. He was going to kill Billy. “So… So my mom had one of those things when I was little…” He licked his lips and was tempted to distract Billy with his mouth. Those blue eyes were watching him, but they definitely zeroed in on his tongue.

 

            “Go on,” Billy wiggled his fingers and Steve whined. _Fuck_.

 

            “I tried to make toast,” Steve offered, voice thin, “And the thing fucking _exploded_. It took off my damned eyebrows! It took _months_ for them to grow back! Months!”

 

            There was silence. A long, long bout of silence, before Billy toppled over with a whoop of laughter.

 

            “It’s not fucking funny!” Steve sat up and glared. “I was _traumatized_!”

 

            “Christ,” Billy breathed, lips pulled into a grin that was all teeth. “Gotta get you over that fear. Who else is going to cook around here?”

 

            “I am not getting stuck with the cooking, Hargrove,” Steve glowered and reached over to poke at Billy’s ribs. It just made him laugh more. _Asshole_.

 

            “But I _love_ your cooking,” Billy rolled over and pushed Steve back onto the floor. He looked up at him and couldn’t help but smile. Billy, all tan and golden, loomed over him with dancing eyes and a soft smile.

 

            “You love something else more, though, don’t you?” Steve grinned and Billy hummed low in his throat, the sound rumbling against Steve’s chest.

 

            “Maybe, sweetheart. It’s probably better than burned toast.”

 

            “God dammit.”

 


	17. Wake Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Billy has a terrible encounter with the demodogs, so it's up to El to drag him out of his head.

Prompt 17: Wake Up

 

 

              The last thing Billy remembered was watching Steve swing his bat, torso twisting and demodog guts spattering his face. He recalled thinking that, looking like that, Steve _was_ a fucking king. He looked like one—hair slicked but wild, eyes focused and narrowed, lips pursed and cheeks flushed. His shirt, a pink polo (Jesus, who the fuck even wore that shit?), had been tattered, mottled red and brown with fresh and old blood.

 

            They had been fighting for days—days without food and very little water. The water they did find in this fucked up place was apparently contaminated. It left both of them vomiting, but water was fucking water, so they dealt with it. Still, the injury Billy had sustained from whatever-the-fuck (a demo—gorgon? Demogorgon?), had exhausted him, had sucked out whatever energy he had left. The blood on Steve’s polo wasn’t entirely his own. He had held Billy against his chest and hauled him through a part of Hawkins (no, not fucking Hawkins, the _Upside fucking Down_ ).

 

            Shit. When Billy had approached Steve about That Night (capital T and N), he hadn’t expected to follow him into _this_ shithole. This was more than what Billy had bargained for, but after fighting next to Steve, creating make-shift weapons out of pipes and shit along the way, he had grown a certain… fondness for him. Perhaps it was respect for his resilience, his determination, his inability to give up when shit got bad. It was why he had been injured in the first place. There had been too many, and Steve hadn’t been watching—and Billy was _sure_ that Steve had been… was going to…

 

            Billy had liked Steve Harrington since the day he planted his boot outside his Camaro and glanced over at the brunette leaning against the Beemer. He had pined for him after his chest had brushed Steve’s back during practice and their breaths had mingled in their stand-off at the party. He had wanted to put his hands on his body after their back and forth in the showers. He had _wanted_.

 

            It was sort of stupid—him going out like this. It certainly hadn’t been his plan. The first day they had spent here, Steve had explained everything—tight and anxious—hands moving in wild gestures at their surroundings. Billy hadn’t believed him, not yet, not about the monsters. Not until they started showing up. Fuck, but that had been… it had only been a few days, right? But days and nights were fucked in the Upside Down, so he had no real idea of the passage of time.

 

            The vivid red blood against the dimness of the Upside Down had been alarming. Billy had placed a hand just below his ribcage, where the things’ claws had dug in and ripped. The noise that came from him couldn’t have been him— _couldn’t have been_. It sounded terrified and so, so loud. So fucking loud. Steve had managed to beat the thing enough to drag it off of him, but, again, Steve swinging was the last thing he remembered.

 

            So, how the _fuck_ did he manage to get stuck in this black, blank space? He felt ethereal. His feet didn’t really touch the ground and if he looked close enough, he wasn’t _that_ solid. But he felt awake, _alive_ , the pain temporarily torn from him.

 

            “You need to wake up.” It was a girl’s voice. Who the fuck?

 

            “You need to _wake up_.”

 

            Billy blinked and pain exploded into his side. He cried out, crumpling to his knees. Tasted blood.

 

            “Wake. Up.”

 

            Another wash of pain almost had him throwing up.

 

            “ _Wake. Up_.” This time, it wasn’t just the little girl’s voice. Steve’s joined in, desperate, loud, and terrified.

 

            Billy’s eyes flew open and he gasped, bringing precious, Upside Down free air into his lungs. He looked around, panicked, and immediately tried to bolt upright. Steve’s hands clasped his shoulders, pushed him down, and Billy could feel his breath next to his ear.

 

            “Easy, Billy. Easy.”

 

            “You… you have… the fucking audacity to wake me up, but not actually let me die.”

 

            “Like hell.” Steve pressed their foreheads together and Billy swallowed, hoping his eyes weren’t as wet as they felt.

 

            He could have died. He almost died. Had he? He was sure he had.

 

            “Holy fuck, I’m alive.”

 

            “Now you can explain to me why you were crying my name in your sleep, Billy.” Steve grinned down at him, an obvious attempt at trying to lighten the mood, and Billy groaned.

 

            Fuck. At least almost dying put shit in perspective. Instead of saying anything, Billy reached up, grabbed Steve’s shirt (it was clean—it was _clean_ —how long had he been out?), and yanked him down. When their lips met, it was a lot gentler than Billy had meant to be, lips sliding and pressing, no tongue and teeth. When Steve pulled away, Billy watched him carefully.

 

            “You sure I’m not dead?”


	18. My Favorite Color is You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve's favorite color is Billy, whatever color that happens to be.

Prompt 18: My Favorite Color is You

 

 

            Billy was blue. Steve had decided that early on. Everything about him was blue. His eyes, his Camaro, his jean jacket and jeans. Even his moods were blue. Beyond the red-hot of his anger were waves and waves of blue, of hurricanes and water spouts and torrential downpours.

 

            Billy was blue, at least, until Steve took him apart. Until, sprawled out on his bed, he kissed and touched until Billy’s blue was streaking down his temples and through his hair. Even when his red and blue mixed to make purple, when his skin blotched and looked like galaxies from hands that were supposed to care, supposed to protect and love, Steve was able to take out the blue and dissolve the red. Red, the same color of blood, of Billy’s blood on days where he couldn’t get away fast enough.

 

            Billy was blue until he wasn’t. Until, less than a month after graduation, he was standing in just his gym shorts, cursing under his breath as bacon grease splattered his stomach. Standing in the kitchen, when the sun beamed through their shitty apartment window across his messy curls, across his tan and muscular back, Billy became _golden_.

 

            And he shined as soon as Steve turned him around and pressed their lips together, smile wide and eyes sky-blue, free of storms.


	19. King Steve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is just straight up porn of King Steve dominating Billy.
> 
> Warning: Sex?

Prompt 19: King Steve

 

**Part 1**

            Steve’s dad is a fucking _asshole_.

 

            Billy laughed, though, because jokes on him. His son’s _cock_ was in his body, filling him, stretching him, and Billy gasped and writhed against that fucking prick’s mahogany desk. His hands grappled for anything to take hold of, to situate himself, but Steve moved so viciously that he could barely think, much less hold on. It didn’t help that Steve grabbed his hair and yanked his head back. He moaned, loud and ruined. His throat bobbed as, finally, he shoved whatever was on the desk off of it, a mess that clattered to the floor.

 

            Steve’s huff of laughter amused him, but it was wiped out as he shifted and brushed passed that place that made Billy’s eyes roll. He whimpered, his voice high and desperate. Steve’s hand stayed in his hair, and the other slid over to his throat. He hissed again, surprised by the way Steve was gripping him, as if he _owned him,_ and maybe he did.

 

            Billy didn’t mind being owned. Not by Steve, at least.

 

            When Billy came, it painted the desk and his laughter was sharp. It dissolved into whines as Steve continued to fuck him well beyond his point of sensitivity, and no matter what Billy mumbled or gasped, Steve continued until he finished. Billy could feel cum dripping down his thighs, and he barely had his breathing back in order when Steve spoke.

 

            “You’ve got issues, asshole.” It was affectionate, and Billy wheezed out another laugh.

 

 

* * *

 

**Part 2**

 

            Billy had cum once already. Steve had forced him over the edge with his tongue in his ass and his fist on his cock with his pants around his knees. Billy had been a moaning mess, and now, Steve was manhandling him back against his cock. Everything felt sluggish and Billy couldn’t fucking _breathe_ because everything was so fucking sensitive.

 

            The metal of the Camaro was cold. His hands grasped at the spoiler, slick with sweat. Steve’s words came back to him and his legs started to tremble.

 

            _I’m going to fuck you against your own fucking car until you can’t walk, Hargrove._

 

            Steve’s cock was in him already and all Billy could hear was the slap of their flesh and the noise coming from his radio. The vibrations of his bass through his trunk pressed right into his cock, pulsating through him, and his eyes stung as Steve began to thrust, pushing him harder and faster against his _own fucking car._

 

            “Fuckfuckfuckfuck,” Billy whimpered and Steve laughed. He continued to move, despite how Billy moaned and writhed and pushed. It felt too fucking good and he was beyond comprehension. Between the way Steve’s dick dug into his body and the vibrations of his bass coursed through his own cock, Billy was lost. He was so lost that he couldn’t even fucking _speak_. He was hard all over again and he was sure, considering Steve’s recent orgasm play, that he wouldn’t be allowed to cum yet. Tears gathered at the corner of his eyes, and they finally fell when Steve leaned over and sank his teeth into Billy’s neck.

 

            “Don’t cum, baby,” Steve breathed, and Billy’s cheeks became a wet mess as he cried, as he mumbled out pleas as Steve filled him over and over again, until thought was lost to him.

           

            It wasn’t until what felt like hours, when his thighs were wet with cum and his body was littered with bite marks and bruises, that Steve whispered ‘cum’ and he painted the Camaro white.

 

* * *

 

**Part 3**

            Steve never thought he would be able to do this. Not to _Billy fucking Hargrove_. The younger teen was sprawled out across Steve’s bed and the only piece of clothing he had on were his jeans. They were unbuttoned, unzipped, his cock hard and straining against his taut stomach. His skin was slightly wet and his chest was rising and falling sharply.

 

            And for once, Billy was unable to actually speak, but there was a damned good reason for that.

 

            Steve’s hand slid over Billy’s cheek and brushed his throat. He licked his lips as his other hand moved so that his fingers could drag along Billy’s spread lips, swollen and slick with spit. Steve’s cock was buried in his throat, the warmth of his mouth and tongue dizzying. He circled his palm around Billy’s throat and groaned as he swallowed. He could feel his Adam’s apple bob, and as Steve pulled back and slid forward, he could _feel_ Billy’s throat accommodating him.

 

            “You’re doing so good, baby,” Steve praised and smirked as Billy’s fingers dug into the comforter. He wasn’t allowed to touch himself, to get any sort of release. All of his attention was on the way Steve moved his hips, sliding back and forth, dragging spit and pre-cum over Billy’s lips and cheeks when he decided to slide the head of his cock all the way out.

 

            Billy _was_ good for him, too. Even if he gagged, he’d go right back to being pliant so Steve could go back fucking his mouth. The noises from thrusting into Billy’s mouth were absolutely filthy and each time Steve pulled back far enough to look at his face, his eyes were misty with tears, cheeks flushed with arousal and tongue eagerly poking out to swipe away the spit from his lips.

 

            “So good for me,” Steve kept one hand on Billy’s throat so he could _feel_ himself moving into his body and the other moved to his hair. He tangled his fingers into the blonde curls and began to snap his hips forward. Billy choked, his hands fisting the sheets and then relaxing as he got used to the feeling of Steve’s cock being so deep, so relentless. Steve felt him moaning and hissed his praise again as he buried himself as deeply as he could.

 

            Instead of forcing Billy to only swallow his cum, Steve rode the coil of pleasure for just a moment—long enough to spurt a few times down Billy’s throat. He pulled back then and reached down to stroke along his cock as he watched those pearly strands fall on Billy’s lips, chin, throat, and chest. He moaned hoarsely and pulled Billy’s hair so that he tipped his head further back, exposing his throat more. The whimper made his cock twitch hard and he gasped.

 

            “Oh, _fuck_ , Billy.”


	20. Volatile Encounters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve contemplates his 'relationship' with Billy Hargrove.
> 
> Warnings: Not a relationship. More like a use and be used system. Darker Steve.

Prompt 20: Volatile Encounters

 

 

         Steve had a problem--one that started with pinpricks along his skin that snowballed into crackling energy just below his skin. It was the type of vibration that curled his fingers and twisted his chest and made him  _ hate _ . It made him hate to hate, but it was better than just exhaustion. He was a ball of one or the other, never both, and it usually depended on his ability to sleep. Which, admittedly, was getting better. The weirdest part about that, though, was why he was able to sleep and why that energy became dormant.

 

         Or rather,  _ who _ helped him.

 

         It started simple enough. Strange enough. They had lost an away game and the team was geared up to leave when Hargrove didn’t report to the bus. Of course, someone had to go find him. Steve had been volunteered and reluctantly went back to the locker room. There had been noise--clanging of metal, grunts, and Steve was fucking sure Hargrove was beating the hell out of someone  _ again _ . That wasn’t what he had walked in on, though. Instead, he stepped around the corner and found Hargrove bent over the bench, head yanked back by his curls with the opposing team’s point guard fucking into him like he’d never had sex before.

 

         Steve should have left. Really, he should have. Yet, the way Hargrove arched, the way he gasped and moaned when the point guard yanked at his hair and hissed something nasty in his ear, something about  _ loser  _ and a  _ bitch _ , made his dick hard. It made him want, and who the fuck knew Hargrove was into  _ that _ kind of fucking?

 

         His eyelids had fluttered open, and despite how fucked out Hargrove was, he was able to meet Steve’s eyes. At that point, Steve had been sure he was going to knock the guy off of him and barrel Steve over. Maybe kill him--definitely kill him. Instead, he swiped that pink tongue over his reddened lips--red from sucking cock, probably--and moaned  _ louder _ . Then, those blue eyes fell to the obvious fucking strain in Steve’s pants and he laughed, cackled, but that had been cut short, too, by a hand around his throat and a hissed  _ slut _ from the guy ramming into his body.

 

         The bus ride home had been--tense--to say the least.

 

         As soon as they arrived at the school, Hargrove had leaned against the driver side fender of Steve’s Beemer and lit a cigarette. His lips had still been swollen, and even though he didn’t have any marks, Steve  _ knew _ there were some underneath his clothing--on his hips, his thighs. It was fucking burned into his brain. 

 

         Hargrove had asked one thing before he walked off.

 

         “You ever have an itch you need scratched, pretty boy?” He had smirked, pulled his cigarette from his mouth, and licked over his lips.

 

         That’s all it took.

 

         Steve had found him, less than a week later, on the side of the road with a bruised jaw, a split lip, and the need for a fight. He was coiled tight and ready to spring, and Steve knew it was like inviting a fucking panther into his car, but he had rolled down the window, offered a lit, half-smoked cigarette, and said,

 

         “You ever have an itch you need scratched?”

 

         Hargrove had gotten in the car and moved like he hurt, but Steve couldn’t bring himself to care. He was more worried about the things that went bump in Hawkins’ woods and the bleeding pit in his chest from his breakup with Nancy and how he couldn’t fucking  _ sleep _ or close his eyes without seeing petals and rows and rows of teeth. Feelings weren’t a fucking thing for him anymore. Avoiding them was his goal.  _ Surviving _ was his goal. After all, it was just an itch, and Hargrove was the perfect person to scratch it. Or, well, vice-versa. 

 

         They had fucked that night. It was messy and hard and  _ mean _ . Steve had pushed the boundaries--held Hargrove too tight by his thighs, dug his nails in enough to bleed, yanked his hair, squeezed the column of his throat. Hargrove had become fucking  _ pliant _ and Steve had watched that edge that he had from earlier melt away. 

 

         Steve had actually slept that night after Hargrove took a bottle of his dad’s scotch, flipped him off with a bloody grin, and walked out.

 

         It became their routine. They still avoided each other like a fucking plague at school, but during practice, they would notice movements--muscle ticks or breathing patterns that gave them away. Later, it was like when a cold and warm front collided, violent and angry, swirling into a funnel cloud before it destroyed everything around them. 

 

         The more volatile encounters always happened when Hargrove showed up on his doorstep, bruised and angry and splitting at the seams. Steve liked them best, craved them, because on those nights, there wasn’t a limit to what he could do to him. The last time he showed up on Steve’s doorstep like that, Hargrove had let him squeeze his throat until his body spasmed around Steve’s cock as it fought for breath. Of course, Steve didn’t choke him out, but the haze over Hargrove’s eyes and how hard he had come let him know  _ just _ how much he liked it. Perhaps it was how much he needed it. He wasn’t sure, but he also didn’t care to find out.

 

         Hargrove had become that scratch to his itch, and it was going to stay that way. At least, until Steve got the hell out of Hawkins. Until then, he would continue to ignore the random bruises, the split lips and the way Hargrove always tossed a quilt over him if he happened to fall asleep before he left the house. Because Steve didn’t have time for feelings and Billy’s darkness matched his own.

 

         It was beneficial. It was mutual. It was  _ good _ , and Steve planned on drawing it out as long as he could, as long as Hargrove would keep spreading his thighs and arching his back.


	21. Long Distance Relationship

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Billy and Steve finally meet after chatting online for two years.

Prompt 21: Long Distance Relationship

 

           Billy felt like ants were crawling all over his  damned skin, and for once, it wasn’t something  _ bad _ . He was nervous, almost  _ giddy _ , if that word could ever be used to describe him (which, fuck no, it couldn’t).  But damn, was it not wrong . He stood, the balls of his feet twisting against the pavement as he watched the cars pass one by one. They slowed to a stop at random, allowed passengers with suitcases in, and then took off. He would eventually do the same, and  _ fuck _ if his stomach wasn’t wound up like a ball of yarn.

 

           Two years. Two years he and Steve had been chatting online. One year since Billy was able to pry himself from his dad’s hands and get out. He had wanted to do this then, but money had been tight and his nerves had gotten the better of him. It was all  _ what ifs _ . What if Steve didn’t like him the way he said? What if Billy really was the asshole he tried not to be toward him online? What if, when Steve saw him, he realized what a bad fucking mistake he was about to make and just...drove away?

 

_            What if? _

 

           Billy’s pack of cigarettes was nearly gone. He wasn’t sure how many he had burned through already. The flight had landed early from Cali, and since then, he’d loitered around the pick up area, watching families, friends, taxis, Ubers, Lyfts--everyone under the  goddamn sun come through. The only reason he  _ still _ wasn’t smoking was because he didn’t want to taste like a  dirty ashtray if Steve  _ did _ decide to kiss him. Again, that was a huge  _ if _ .

 

           It was unnerving--how confident he was in Cali with his group of friends, the beach, the waves. Out there, he owned the ground he walked on. Here? It was like the cement wanted to swallow him up. There was no faint smell of salt. No noise of too-much traffic. No huge groups of people flitting around with too-tan skin and not enough clothing. It was a startling change in pace, and Billy didn’t like it. It put him on edge and made his teeth fucking itch.

 

           Really, though. That movie--the Shrek one? That came to mind when Billy thought about himself. An onion with multiple layers upon layers. His friends dug in, sure, but Steve--over the last two years--Steve had managed to somehow pull each layer away until Billy was  _ nothing _ . Until Steve knew  _ everything _ about him. Maybe that was why Billy felt like he had drank one too many cans of Monster. Maybe that was why his heart felt like it was ready to explode. It had to be. Steve knew him better than anyone else. He knew about his fears, about his abuse, about his  _ mom _ .

 

           Steve knew everything. He probably knew Billy better than Billy knew himself.

 

           It was fitting that Billy was thinking about that as a maroon BMW, sleek and all curves, rolled up to where he was standing. He watched, holding his breath as Steve climbed out of the car and turned his eyes on him. Heat swirled from his gut to his chest, his legs, all the way into his fingers and toes as Steve walked around. He was wearing slacks and a button down, his hair perfectly done. When his cologne hit Billy, he was  _ pretty _ sure he was going to just--come in his pants.

 

           One blink, and Steve was in front of him. Billy stared at him, unabashedly, and then Steve smiled.

 

           “Cat got your tongue, Billy?” Steve asked, but he sounded just as breathless as Billy felt.

 

           “No,” Billy managed, “but you can.”

 

           Steve leaned forward and Billy felt soft lips. Softer than his own. At first, it was gentle and curious before Billy stepped forward and caged him against the passenger side of the car. He bracketed his arms on each side of Steve and noted the difference in height. Of course, he  _ knew _ , but it was different to see it in  _ person _ .

 

           “You call that a kiss?” Billy spoke against Steve’s lips and then smiled as Steve laughed.

 

           “I can always show you  _ later _ ,” Steve’s hands tucked at BIlly’s sides, edging beneath his button up shirt to slide along smooth, warm skin. “Get in the damned car.”

 

           This time, Billy laughed.


	22. First Kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sightetsound: I'd love to see your version of how a canon-compliant Harringrove first kiss would go!

First Kiss

 

           “Demo- _ what _ ?” Billy snarled at Max. His head throbbed and he tasted blood on his tongue. “You expect me to  _ believe _ \--”

 

           “It’s true, Billy!” Max snapped and Billy whirled on her, taut with anger. “A fucking  _ deer _ didn’t take your car out!”

 

           They were stranded on the side of the road in the middle of  _ fucking nowhere _ and it still smelled like shit and now the front of his car _ looked like shit. _ Picking up Max from the Arcade had been easy, routine, a way to keep on his old man’s good side. Hitting some mysterious, goop covered creature was  _ not _ routine. By the looks of it, his radiator was busted and his tie-rod was bent, axle probably broken, his front driver wheel caught at a weird angle. It was hundreds of dollars worth of work, and that didn’t include a fucking paint job.

 

           That wasn’t Billy’s main concern, though. He stood over the thin, dog-like creature. Its face--flaps? Its face flaps held rows and rows of teeth and the blood on the ground was a mucky, dark color. Not normal. Not  _ routine _ . 

 

           “And why the  _ fuck _ did you radio Harrington?” Billy bit out. 

 

           “Because  _ Steve _ has a working car and  _ Steve _ knows about these things,” Max waved her radio around. “ _ And _ if there are more of them, I’d rather not be demodog dinner.”

 

           “ _ Jesus _ ,” Billy threw his hands into the air and kicked the spine of the demodog. It slid to the side with, pressed by force of his boot heel just as headlights reared over the hill. Billy squinted until the familiar BMW parked. Steve climbed out and he looked just as tired, just as stressed, just as  _ pale _ as he always did with his stupid big eyes and his  _ stupid fucking hair _ .

 

           “Shit,” Steve breathed once he was close enough and Billy rolled his eyes. He ignored the way Max watched them both, too high-strung to pay much attention to the little shit. “Are either of you hurt?”

 

           “Nah,” Max shrugged. “Billy is, though.”

 

           “You little fu--” Billy stepped forward, but Steve was quick to grab his shoulder and turn him around. He almost slid on the asphalt, was about to tear into Steve when he caught the concern in those brown eyes.

 

           “They like blood,” Steve stepped close and Billy held his breath as that familiar cologne washed over him. His lips thinned and his heart beat wildly in his chest while Steve looked him over. “Are you bleeding?” Not that Billy didn’t  _ want _ Steve to look him over, to take him in, but god  _ dammit _ , this is  _ not _ how he wanted it to happen.

 

           Billy grinned instead, shark-like and wide, his teeth painted red in the headlights of Steve’s BMW. “I dunno, pretty boy, why don’t you  _ check _ -”

 

           Steve pulled him, then, until he was completely blanketed in the headlights. “You  _ are _ bleeding-”

 

           “Thanks for the fucking newsflash-”

 

           “You split your head open-”

 

           “On my fucking  _ windshield _ , thanks-”

 

           “And more of those things are gonna show up ‘cause you’re bleeding,” Steve pushed at his hair, tucked some curls to the side so he could inspect the split in his skull. Hitting the demo-whatever wasn’t what got Billy. Landing in the ditch after his wheel gave out had given him a good knock to the head. He had wrenched his arm back into the socket after the wreck, checked on Max, and forgotten about his own injuries after seeing that fucking  _ thing _ in the middle of the road.

 

           Billy couldn’t breathe, and it wasn’t because of that dead thing or the fact that his car was going to have to be towed. It was Steve’s hands on his face, in his hair, the concern on his face. It didn’t make any fucking  _ sense _ . He had beaten the guy’s face in and he was acting like they were fucking  _ pals _ . Each brush of Steve’s fingers, long and thin, like a pianist’s, scalded his skin and made his lungs burn with want, a familiar knot of emotion in his gut, his chest, his--well. 

 

           “Hold on, lemme grab something,” Steve ducked away and Billy missed his touch immediately. He watched him walk away and then turned when Max snorted.

 

           “Could you be  _ any _ more obvious?” Max crossed her arms over her chest and glared, a good imitation of Billy’s regular expression. She had resting bitch face  _ down _ , that was for fucking sure. “Don’t you think it’s a  _ little _ fucking weird? You’re like. A five year old pulling pigtails or whatever.”

 

           “Shut the  _ fuck _ up, Maxine,” Billy warned, worked his jaw, sucked in a breath, and counted back from ten. Honestly, he and Max had been doing  _ better _ , but he was going to  _ ruin _ her if she kept this up.

 

           “Why don’t you just kiss him?” Max shrugged. “What, the worst thing he’s gonna do is punch you. And it’s not like you two haven’t-”

 

           “Shut. The fuck up.  _ Maxine _ ,” Billy seethed. “It’s none of your  _ goddamn _ -”

 

           “Uh,” Steve cleared his throat and Billy closed his eyes. Yeah. This was it. This was when Steve punched him out because Max couldn’t mind her own fucking business. He turned around slowly and leveled his eyes on Steve, whose cheeks were pink and eyes were wide. 

 

           “Look, don’t get any ideas in that pretty little head of yours-” Billy really didn’t think he could handle another go at his head and there weren’t any plates or objects he could just throw at Steve. His warning was cut off and Billy almost squawked as Steve dropped whatever he was holding, cupped his cheeks, and tugged him forward. Their lips met, a deceptively soft thing, just like how Steve was holding him. Billy stood absolutely still, flabbergasted and speechless.

  
           “I have never seen him speechless before,” Max said with mild disgust. Billy had enough brain power left to flip her off as he hooked his fingers into Steve’s belt loops to yank him closer. “Yeah, you’re welcome, _asshole_.”


	23. Miscommunication

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Miscommunication

Miscommunication

 

             Steve and Billy’s relationship started out like oil and water. No matter what, they couldn’t-- _ wouldn’t _ \--mix. Billy postured, snarled, beat Steve’s face in, and Steve kept his fucking distance after that. It was difficult, though, because Billy was still on his ass. He still crowded him in gym, still sneered and cooed  _ pretty boy _ at him in the halls. He made sure, undoubtedly, that Steve felt like he could be beaten into the fucking ground again.

 

             It wasn’t until they were at an away game that Steve had had  _ enough _ . After the locker room cleared out, Billy was on his shit again, and Steve was tired after too many sleepless nights where trees looked more like monster limbs and the sounds of stray cats sounded like the shrieks of petal-faced, Demo-whatevers.

 

             Just as Billy stepped forward, as he began to posture, Steve planted his hands against his shoulders and  _ shoved _ . He heard the clang of the lockers as Billy’s shoulders hit them and heard the inhale of breath. A warmth coiled in the bottom of his spine and adrenaline spiked through his veins. He hadn’t felt this good in a while, and if Billy wanted a fucking fight, he’d give him one. Steve crowded Billy and caged him in with his hands pressed hard against the vents of the lockers next to Billy’s head.

 

             “For  _ hating _ me, you have a real terrible habit of bothering me,” Steve looked over Billy’s face. His eyebrows were furrowed, his lips curled in that familiar snarl. When he caught his eyes, though, he noticed how the pupils were growing wide, eating up ocean blue. He also noted that Billy’s hands were at his sides, relaxed, even if his shoulders were one long line of tension. “What? You can beat my face in but now I’m not worth your time?”

 

             “Harrington,” there was a warning in Billy’s voice, but Steve didn’t  _ care _ . Billy had fucked with him, continuously, even after their brawl at the Byers’. It was  _ tiring _ and Steve didn’t have the energy to deal with it anymore. He had bigger and badder things to worry about, and they didn’t respond to  _ Billy _ or  _ Hargrove _ .

 

             “ _ Hargrove _ ,” Steve raised an eyebrow but didn’t let up. He eased in closer. Ever since the Upside Down, he had been better at observing, at listening, at watching small things. So, he noticed the way Billy’s eyes dropped and came back up, a split second to look at Steve’s mouth. He noticed the pink that started to mottle over Billy’s cheeks and neck. He noticed the hitch of breath and the quiet click of his throat as he swallowed. Even still, those pupils were wide. Billy was trying to look angry, but his body was responding like--like--

 

             Oh.

 

_              Oh _ .

 

             Steve smirked, a slow curl of his lips as he tilted his head to the side. “Is that it?” He asked curiously, “You don’t  _ hate _ me, do you? You actually-”

 

             “Harrington,” Billy growled and Steve heard how breathless he was.

 

             “-like me,” Steve darted his tongue out between his lips, experimentally, and just as he thought. Billy’s followed the movement, swallowed again, and looked up to meet his eyes. 

 

             “I’m not a fucking faggot,” Billy sounded like he was repeating something he said a lot, like he was trained to say it. He spit the word faggot out like a curse and a poorly hidden secret.

 

             “Maybe,” Steve shrugged one shoulder and leaned further in. Despite Billy’s statement, he didn’t move as Steve brushed his cheek along his, as his breath ghosted over his neck, his ear. He felt when Billy shivered and saw the minuscule arch, the curve of his spine. “But you keep calling me the pretty one, Hargrove. And I’m not sure that’s right.”

 

             Billy Hargrove  _ liked _ him. He liked when Steve pinned him to the lockers and took what he wanted. He liked when he grabbed his jaw and tilted his face so Steve could slot his lips over Billy’s. He liked when Steve pressed the palm of his hand to the bottom of his back and pulled him forward, forced him to arch  _ into _ Steve’s body.

 

             Billy postured and snarled and threatened a lot, but Steve was starting to realize something about him: he  _ wanted _ to lose control. More specifically, and thrilling for Steve, he wanted to lose control  _ underneath _ Steve Harrington.

 

             And Steve could work with that.


	24. 3 In 1!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 3 Prompts in one by Weirdlet. :)

**_Harringrove with babies?_ **

 

“I  _ can’t _ do it to my own hair,” the six year old cried, and Billy was pretty sure that every time she cried, his heart broke. It was something simple, really. Braiding was easy. Their little one had watched him braid his longer hair back away from his face so he could work on the cars, and she was trying desperately to imitate it with her own blonde frizz.

 

“It takes practice, like everything takes practice,” Billy explained gently and then he felt the warmth of the love of his life at his side. He looked over and smiled at Steve, whose eyes were flickering between Billy and their rambunctious child. 

 

“Do you want to see me try it on dad’s hair?” Steve grinned when she nodded, enthusiastic in everything, and her tears dried up almost instantly.

 

_ Kids _ , Billy groused as he straightened and then flopped, defeated, to the floor in front of the couch. Instead of Maddie climbing up, he grabbed her by the waist, lifted her above him, and dropped her down. She giggled and tucked herself between Steve’s legs, her smaller ones resting on Billy’s shoulders.

 

“Show me!”

 

“Okay, so first we go with three strands…”

 

And Billy wasn’t sure how long he sat there, or how many tiny braids he had in his hair when she was done practicing, but that didn’t matter. What mattered was the giggling and the laughter and the feeling of fullness in his chest that he had lacked for a better part of his life.

 

He had always heard not to rely on others for happiness, but Steve was the missing piece to his puzzle, and Maddie…

 

Well, Maddie was the one who kept placing them back together.

  
  


_**Billy adapting to the winter by curling up in a blanket and just Refusing to Deal?** _

 

“No,” Billy said, for about the fifth fucking time. He tightened the heavy quilt around his head and glowered through the small hole he had created so Steve knew  _ exactly _ how much he  _ hated _ the idea of going outside.

 

“Come  _ on _ , Billy,” Steve slid onto the bed, knees first, and leaned down to grin at him. “Just once. One fight. Come on. It’s less painful than the fight we had!”

 

“It’s  _ cold _ ,” Billy squinted and then stuffed his face into the blanket. His curls fell around his ears, his neck, tumbling out of the small opening he had made in the blanket.

 

“You get to pelt Dustin with snowballs,” Steve coaxed and Billy felt that twist of glee in his gut.  _ Dammit _ . “Come on, baby. Imagine hitting  _ Mike _ in the face.”

 

“You’re making hot cocoa after,” Billy stated, firm, “and fucking me by the fireplace.”

 

“Deal.” Steve bounced up and Billy groaned as he crawled out of the quilt cocoon he had created on Steve’s bed. 

 

“And don’t think you’re  _ safe _ , Harrington. You’re just as good of a target as those shitbirds,” Billy sent him a look and Steve grinned, shrugged, and threw a scarf at him. 

 

It smelled like Steve’s expensive cologne and Billy held it close for a moment before that shark-like grin took over his face. Steve was  _ doomed _ .

 

_**Steve finding Billy's weak spot and taking shameless advantage?** _

 

Billy was still floored that Steve fucking Harrington  _ liked _ him. He felt like he was on Cloud 9, like nothing could go wrong. Of course, inevitably, things always did. After all, he  _ was _ Billy Hargrove and everything he touched seemed to just--fall apart. Yet, Steve… doesn’t, hasn’t,  _ didn’t _ . The circles under his eyes become lighter and the smiles and laughter sounded truer. Even the kids,  _ grudgingly _ , noted that Steve was improving.

 

Steve was sleeping at night.

 

Steve was eating more often.

 

Steve was looking  _ good _ .

 

They were both sprawled out on the concrete next to Steve’s pool, their calves and feet floating in the water over the edge, sometimes brushing, sometimes not. Steve was saying something, but Billy hadn’t paid enough attention, apparently. Annoyed, Steve prodded Billy’s side and he fucking  _ yelped _ . The smirk that Billy watched spread over Steve’s face made his skin crawl.

 

“Harrington, don’t you  _ fucking _ dare-”

 

“Are you  _ ticklish _ ?” Steve rolled over and somehow straddled Billy’s waist without dropping into the pool. Billy watched his fingers through the Ray Bans he had stolen off of Steve’s head earlier. He scowled and tested Steve’s weight. The  _ one _ time Steve decided to actually  _ plant _ anything, it was his knees by Billy’s sides as he wiggled his fingers at him.

 

“Fuck you. No, I’m not.”

 

“Uh-huh.”

 

Billy watched as Steve reached down and held his breath. He tried his best not to wiggle, not to give in or show any weakness, but Steve was an  _ awful fucking person _ and continued to tickle him until he whined. Billy jerked, twisted, tried to dislodge Steve, but it didn’t fucking work. Steve continued to tickle him and Billy heaved between laughter and swear words until he couldn’t handle it anymore.

 

Abruptly, Billy sat up and wrapped an arm around Steve’s waist. Instead of shoving Steve into the pool like he thought about doing, Billy pushed himself off the ledge and took both of them into the water. When they surfaced, Billy wheezed and Steve laughed.

 

“Man, fuck you,” Billy huffed out, but his lips twitched in a ghost of a smile as Steve cornered him against the side of the pool.

 

“In the pool, Hargrove?  _ Scandalous _ ,” Steve swiped his tongue over his lips and Billy laughed again. 

 

“Like you’re complaining,” Billy murmured. He laced his arms around Steve’s waist, pulled him close, and kissed Steve. He tasted like sunscreen, chlorine, and summer. 

 

Steve tasted like California, and in the middle of shitty Hawkins, Indiana, Billy felt like he was home.


	25. Ahoy!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sightetsound: Nor I humbly request a snapshot of Billy making horrible ice cream flavor jokes at Steve, PLEASE AND THANK YOU

Tumblr Prompt 25: Ahoy!

 

          “ _ I _ didn’t want to go to the mall,” Max objected, skateboard tucked against her side and eyes narrowed at Billy. “I have no idea why  _ you’d _ want to come here-”

 

          “Shut up, Maxine,” Billy took a drag of his cigarette and leaned to blow the smoke into her face. “You’re worse than your mother.”

 

          “Wha--take that back!” Max bolted after him as he strutted along the slope of the food court. “Billy! Hey,  _ asshole _ !”

 

          “How am I supposed to pick up  _ any _ bitches in this town if you’re squawking at me?” Billy drawled and flicked his cigarette to the side. He didn’t give a fuck that the ashes fell on the floor. He ignored the looks of dismay and surprise from parents and older pieces of shit as he neared his goal.

 

          “Who would want to go out with  _ you _ ?” Max wrinkled her nose at him. It made him snort, but as soon as he settled in front of the counter at Ahoy, his lips quirked into a wide grin and his eyelids fluttered low.

 

          Max bumped into his back and then said something snarky. He didn’t hear it, too entertained by Steve fucking Harrington. The guy turned around, exasperated already by the constant bullshit. His hands immediately went to his hips as soon as he realized Billy was his next customer.  _ Cute _ .

 

          “Ahoy,” Steve said with all the enthusiasm of someone about to serve roadkill.

 

          “Aw, pretty boy, can’t you do better than that?” Billy leaned over the counter and the clink of his necklace against it made Steve’s eyes drop to his chest. “My eyes are up here, Harrington.” Billy crooked his finger and Steve scowled as soon as his eyes caught Billy’s again.

 

          “What. Do. You. Want?” Steve managed to bite out with a little less venom than a cottonmouth snake. Billy licked his lips and shrugged.

 

          “Obviously, ice cream. The shitbird wanted it-”

 

          “Wha-”

 

          “So here I am,” Billy looked back at Max, who squinted at him. “Pick your flavor.”

 

          “Vanilla cone,” Max looked at Steve and gave him a hopeless shrug. Billy could tell that her little mind was working, but he wasn’t going to humor her with an excuse or an explanation. Instead, he cocked his head at Steve and widened his smirk.

 

          “Same for me.”

 

          Steve looked like he’d rather jump off the quarry cliff’s edge, really, but he grabbed two cones and shifted over to the ice cream. When Max kicked his shin, Billy hissed and glared down at her.

 

          “ _ What _ ?”

 

          “Steve is not a  _ bitch _ ,” Max hissed it low enough that Billy was sure Steve didn’t hear. Pretty sure.

 

          Billy blinked. “What?”

 

          “ _ You _ said you were here to pick up bitches. Steve is not a bitch,” Max pressed her lips together and made a move to kick Billy in the shin again. He dodged and then scuffed the back of her head with his arm.

 

          “Shut your trap,” Billy straightened as Steve walked over and handed them their cones. He pulled out the amount he owed and dropped it on the counter. Steve pushed his change into his palm and instead of just letting it be, Billy tightened his grip around Steve’s hand and smirked. 

 

          “Maxine says you’re not a bitch,  _ King _ Steve,” Billy purred and watched Steve’s cheeks pinken as he kept his hold on his hand. “Is that right?”

 

          Steve pursed his lips in the same fashion Max had and Billy laughed. “Well? Are you? Because  _ I _ bet you are, and you’d just lie back and take it. Vanilla, right?” He looked down at his cone as he released Steve’s hand.

 

          “Man, fu--” Steve’s response cut off as another employee walked by and if eyes could kill, Billy might have been on fire--would  _ definitely _ be on fire. “Have a  _ wonderful _ day.”

 

          “You aren’t busy,” Billy hedged and watched as Max rolled her eyes and stomped off to a table. He looked back to Steve and slid his tongue around the bottom part of the ice cream. It gathered on his tongue and he sucked it into his mouth as Steve watched. “Again, eyes are up here.” He pointed and Steve startled.

 

          “Hargrove,” Steve finally said, seeming to have gathered his thoughts. “You’re the one with the vanilla ice cream.” He leaned forward and Billy’s breath caught in his throat. “I, personally, enjoy a little more  _ nuts _ with my dessert.” 

 

          And Billy almost swallowed his tongue.

 

          “Oh?” Instead, Billy straightened up against the counter and licked the stray bit of ice cream off his palm. “I didn’t know you were that adventurous.”

 

          “There is a  _ lot _ about me you don’t know,” Steve’s voice dropped and Billy caught his eyes. “But one thing you  _ should _ know? I’m anything  _ but _ vanilla.”

 

          Billy pressed an open mouth kiss to the top of his ice cream, licked over it, and then leaned away so he could swallow. “Call me intrigued,” he cooed, but he made sure to make it sound like a taunt, like a  _ try me _ instead of  _ do me _ .

 

          Steve’s eyes darted around and Billy knew he was checking to make sure no one else could hear. When he leaned forward, Billy tilted his head to the side and licked the remaining ice cream off his bottom lip.

 

          “You think I was called  _ King Steve _ at school for basketball? For popularity?” Steve smirked, a slow, sinful thing. Billy’s grip tightened around the cone. He’d be lucky if it didn’t fucking  _ break _ . “You think you took that title? I’m  _ King Steve _ because I know how to make someone beg,  _ Billy _ . I know how to edge them until they  _ can’t think _ , and it’s  _ always _ King Steve, then.” He leaned back, purred, “ahoy,” and walked back toward the machines.

 

          Billy throat worked in a swallow and his jaw clicked shut.

 

          On the way out, Max looked up at him, ice cream still in her hand. “Steve is the bitch, isn’t he?”

 

          Billy… wasn’t sure.

 

          He may be the bitch on this one.

 

_           Fuck _ .


	26. You Won't (Believe Me)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anon: Steve and Billy are getting along, maybe flirting a little. One day Steve shows up to Billy's house, but Neil opens the door. He has seen him and Billy hanging out and confronts Steve, thinking they maybe dating or something, and he gets violent. I'll leave it up to you if Billy steps up in the moment or if he sees Steve's bruises the next day.

 

Tumblr Prompt 26: You Won't (Believe Me)

 

          Billy sat opposite of Hopper’s desk, his hands in his lap and his expression dark. He stared at the old wood, at the chips, at the cigarette burns. He stared anywhere  _ but _ Hopper’s face, who, to his credit, smoked his cigarette like nothing had happened. A lump formed in his throat and it tasted like salt, like anger, like the dark coil of madness and self-hatred that he kept in his chest.

 

          “Kid,” Hopper sat forward and Billy tensed. He stared at the report in front of the cop, knew it was there on purpose, knew it was  _ open _ on purpose. “If you just  _ talk _ , I won’t let him go. What  _ happened _ ?”

 

          Billy’s face hurt. His lip ached and his jaw felt like a door that needed WD-40 at the joints. His left ear had stopped bleeding, at least. None of it compared to Steve, though. None of it even touched the bruising on his face or his ribs. It wasn’t even a lick of it.

 

          “ _ William _ ,” Hopper’s voice finally pulled him out of his head. It was almost painful, like skin of an old wound being ripped open. Billy looked up, dazed, and swallowed. His hands didn’t feel like his own. His knuckles were split open, bloody, cracked, but the bright red had dried into a sullen brown. Every time he flexed his fingers, new, vibrant red added to the rest.

 

          “My dad…” Billy started, stopped, needed a drink. He clenched his hands into fists and slouched his shoulders. He wasn’t some pussy. He wasn’t a bitch, but this--this was close to impossible. Close to  _ not happening _ .

 

_           But _ Steve was lying on a hospital bed. Neil had put him there.  _ But _ Billy had intervened.

 

          “Isn’t here,” Hopper hedged and scooted the file toward the other side of the desk. “Harrington is going to be fine. I’m worried about you.”

 

          “I’m always fine,” Billy replied immediately. It was a trained response.  _ I’m fine. I don’t know what you’re talking about. Everything is great at home. My dad cares about me. I just keep getting into fights. I can’t keep my mouth shut _ .

 

          “You  _ look _ fine,” Hopper said wryly and Billy snorted. Yeah, he knew. He knew  _ exactly _ what he looked like. “Let’s start easier. Who started it?”

 

          “My dad,” Billy swallowed and felt like he was betraying Neil. Billy could rant and rave about Neil all he wanted, but he was his  _ dad _ and there had always been this fucking  _ drive _ in him to do something,  _ anything _ to get his attention--good attention. Attention like… like he had gotten before, in Cali. Before Susan. Before Max. Before his mom left.

 

          Hopper nodded, tapped his fingers on the file, took another drag of his cigarette. “Who started the physical part?”

 

          Billy hesitated, “my dad.”

 

          “What made him throw a punch at a kid?” Hoppers eyes were on him now and Billy felt like his skin was being peeled back, like the blackness in his heart was oozing out of wounds that were being opened against his will.

 

          “Steve told him not to call me a faggot,” Billy licked his lips, stared at the desk, flexed his fingers. Anything to keep himself  _ busy _ . “Told him to shut up.”

 

          “Who hit who first?”

 

          “Dad hit me. It wasn’t  _ bad _ . He just back-handed me like he  _ normally _ -”

 

          “Hitting a kid is not normal,” Hopper intervened, but his voice was low and tight. “It’s not  _ just _ , kid, and it’s not happening here. Now, why did he hit you?”

 

          Billy’s cheeks warmed. He finally dragged his eyes to Hopper’s, met his gaze, shifted his boots on the ground. Sniffed.

 

          “Look,” Hopper snubbed his cigarette out on the ashtray. “Whatever is going on between you and Harrington-”

 

          “Nothing--!”

 

          “-is none of my business and I don’t  _ care _ . I have Neil Hargrove locked up for attacking two  _ kids _ and I need to know  _ why _ .” Hopper leveled his gaze and Billy didn’t look away. He couldn’t look away. Hopper would be like everyone else. He would be disgusted. He would spit at Billy. He would laugh like the cops did in Cali. He would take Neil out of jail and tell him to hit Billy harder, that what he was doing wasn’t  _ working _ .

 

          “He found us kissing,” Billy finally said and waited.

 

          And waited.

 

          And waited.

 

          “Aren’t you going to hit me or something?” Billy breathed out and his fear morphed into anger. He could deal with anger. Fear was an animal he couldn’t control--like that night in November. “Aren’t you going to throw me in jail? Aren’t you-”

 

          Hopper raised his hand, and it had never stopped Billy before, but he snapped his mouth shut and swallowed and  _ swallowed again _ . He swiped at his cheeks and the backs of his hands came back wet with tears.

 

          “No,” Hopper shook his head and stood from his desk. “I’m going to make sure that you and Max are safe. I’m going to have one of my officers, idiots as they are, drive you to the hospital to see Harrington. I’m going to have  _ you _ put a restraining order on your dad.  _ You _ are not going back there with him in that house.”

 

          Billy blinked and sat, frozen in his chair, as Hopper left the room.

 

          What the  _ fuck _ had just happened?

 

~

 

          At the hospital, Steve was already sitting up, a spoon lolling out of his mouth. When Billy stepped in, those brown eyes flickered over and his lips spread into a grin. “They have strawberry ice cream,” Steve offered. “Not as good as Scoop Ahoy’s, but it’s. I mean. It’s ice cream. That’s your favorite, right?”

 

          “Yeah, pretty boy,” Billy managed, choked, really, as he stepped over and tucked a strand of hair behind Steve’s ear. “That’s my favorite.”

 

          Steve beamed.

 


	27. The Brass Rail

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve is in college and they just won a game in San Diego, Cali. He wants to celebrate, but not necessarily with his teammates.
> 
> Birthday Gift for orangecoconut on AO3 and DrawaCharge on Tumblr.

**The Brass Rail**

 

           

 

            Hillcrest.

 

            San Diego.

 

            The Brass Rail.

 

            Steve had heard about it while nursing a beer in the middle of a random bar. The guy chatting to his teammate had wrinkled his nose as he mentioned it. He had said _the gay disease_ and _homosexuals_ and Steve, in the middle of his team’s celebration on winning their game against University of San Diego, had become irritated. It was the nineties. The guy needed to _lighten the fuck up_.

 

            But that’s how Steve found himself at the Brass Rail.

 

            Steve came from a small town in a state that was more interested in farming than anything else, so the idea that people _openly_ flirted with the same sex threw him for a loop. It was also a breath of fresh air. Steve _knew_ he liked guys. He had liked them for as long as he could remember, but Matt Dillon from _The Outsiders_ sort of sealed the fucking deal for him. Muscular, strong-jawed, and a rumble of a voice.

 

            Yeah, Steve liked guys. The problem was--he wasn’t _straightforward_ about it. Hell, he had to swallow who he was at home still with his parents.

 

            He’d rather be swallowing something else.

 

            Which was why Steve was propped against the stall in the men’s bathroom and nervously eyeing the circular hole on the other side. Did people really--? Did this actually _happen_?

 

            Sure enough, a couple of fingers wiggled through the hole and the glint of a ring shined at him. Steve exhaled slowly and shifted, sank to his knees, and cautiously slipped his fingers through. He curled them, pulled his hand back, and didn’t have to wait long. The guy’s cock, long and hard already, was blushed pink with a thick, mouth-watering vein running from the base to the tip.

 

            Where another metal ring sat. The guy had a piercing on his _dick_.

 

            “Fuck,” Steve breathed and heard him chuckle, a low, amused thing that made him twitch in his jeans. He reached up, circled the base with his fingers, and dragged his tongue over the head, the metal ring, tasted the difference, felt the opposing textures. _Loved it_. He ran his tongue along the hoop, closed his lips over the ball, tugged.

 

            The guy swore and Steve would have grinned if his mouth hadn’t been busy. He parted his lips, took the head into his mouth, relished the heaviness against his tongue. He traced underneath the head with his tongue, sucked like he would on a lollipop, and dipped his lips further until the ring bumped the back of his throat. He gagged and swallowed to ease his throat. He heard the guy’s breath catch, heard the moan, and tightened his lips around his cock.

 

            Then, it became like a game.

 

            Steve sucked and swallowed and slid his lips up and down his cock. He listened to the sharp breaths and the grunts and kept his eyes closed. He imagined what the guy might look like. Tatted, probably. Definitely pierced. Maybe muscular. His own cock swelled in his jeans, uncomfortable, but Steve was too enveloped in tonguing and sucking to do anything about it.

 

            There was something filthy about doing this, about kneeling in a random bathroom and sucking off a stranger. It was filthy and exhilarating and _good_ \--certainly not something he would have done in Hawkins, Indiana. Steve dipped down again, dragged his tongue over the thick vein on the underside of his cock, and pulled back up to suck on the head.

 

            A tapping noise made his eyes open, forced him to listen.

 

            “Gonna come,” the guy murmured, thick and pleased. Even if Steve couldn’t see him, the knowledge that he was good enough to drive the guy to orgasm made something boil in his blood. He guessed the guy expected him to pull back, to use his hand, to _not swallow_.

 

            Steve always swallowed.

 

            “ _Fuck_ ,” the muttered curse almost made Steve laugh. A huffed breath fell from his nose as he swallowed down to the base. He felt the tremor first and the cock in his mouth twitched before he tasted cum. It was bitter and salty and _exactly_ what Steve craved. He gulped it down like a starved man, sucked until he was sure that the guy was over-sensitive. Slowly, Steve pulled up, let go, and licked his lips.

 

            The guy pulled back, away, and Steve was pretty sure it was done. Even if he throbbed in his jeans, pushed at the zipper and the clasp, he doubted--

 

            “Not gonna let me return the favor?” The voice was like fucking _silk_ on his skin, a balm to his nerves, and Steve involuntarily _moaned_. “Come on, lemme do it,” he sounded sated, content. “I bet you’re _real_ pretty.”

 

            Steve snorted at that and ignored the memories _pretty_ dragged up. Too many to count.

 

            “Just don’t call me pretty boy,” Steve replied and noticed how hoarse his voice was.

 

            There was silence, then. Steve felt like he had said something wrong, something _stupid_.

 

            But then there was a knock on his stall door, heavy, _demanding_.

 

            “Open it,” the man’s voice was rough now and Steve swallowed. Maybe this was how he died. Maybe this was how he got beat to death for saying something stupid. He had a knack for putting his foot in his mouth, and he _knew_ that, but. Fuck.

 

            Steve stood, sucked in a slow breath, and opened the door.

 

            “Steve Harrington,” Billy stared at him, his blue eyes shining and his lips curled into a devious smirk. He pushed his way into the stall, slammed the door shut, and pinned Steve up against the side before Steve had _any_ fucking idea how to respond.

 

            “Hargrove,” Steve managed, breathless. How had Billy gotten _more_ attractive since high school? His hair was up in a messy bun, curls spilling out around his face. He had a lip piercing on the side, a nose stud, a California tan, and--and--

 

            And whatever haunted him in Hawkins, Indiana, was gone. He looked younger, somehow, more at ease, and Steve _liked it_. It dawned on Steve, then, that he had just swallowed Billy’s cum. He had sucked him off. He had tasted the boy who had unraveled him in high school without even _knowing_ it.

 

            When Billy slipped his tongue over his lips in a strange echo of their past, Steve caught the piercing on his tongue. Je _sus_.

 

            “Uh,” Steve blinked and his cock twitched. “I think I might let you return the favor.”

 

            “And more,” Billy practically purred at him and Steve swallowed as Billy, decked out in leather pants and a soft, baby-blue button up shirt (still fucking allergic to buttoning it up all the way or _something_ ) dropped to his knees and nuzzled the hot brand of Steve’s cock.

 

            “Definitely more,” Steve agreed as he buried his fingers into those curls, soft as silk, no product.

 

            “Gonna get _railed_ tonight, pretty boy,” Billy’s blue eyes danced as he looked up and Steve almost pinched his nose at the pun.

 

            Some things never change.

 

            Except, Billy _had_ changed. The blue of his eyes was just as bright as his shirt and the anger and hurt and fear that Steve had been used to seeing there was gone. Hell, Billy unbuckled his jeans and tugged his cock out like a fucking pro. Practiced. It dawned on Steve, then, as his fingers curled tighter in Billy’s hair, that this wasn’t _all that_ surprising.

 

            _Pretty Boy._

 

_Plenty of bitches in the sea._

 

_Heard you turned **bitch**._

 

_This is the King Steve I’ve heard so much about._

 

_You’ve got some fire in you after all._

 

            Steve had missed it. All of it. Suddenly, things clicked in place. Billy watched him with want, with need, unabashed and unrestricted. He parted those pretty pink lips and dragged his pierced tongue from the base of Steve’s cock to the head, and Steve almost came right then. He slipped his nails over Billy’s scalp, pressed his fingers through the tight bind of the tie that held his hair in a bun, and pushed it loose. Curls fell haphazardly and Steve tugged, just to see what Billy would do.

 

            He didn’t expect the moan, a little higher pitched than before. Steve sucked in a breath and watched Billy swallow the better portion of his cock into his throat. It was tight, wet, and _hot_. Perfectly slick. He twisted his fingers around more of Billy’s curls and pulled them taut, until Billy tipped his head back and looked up at him.

 

            “You’ve liked me for a long time,” Steve hedged and Billy’s eyes darkened. His cheeks pinked and Steve grinned. “You _have_. Fuck. I could have been doing _this_ and instead you were smashing a fucking plate over my head.” He snorted and pulled Billy back just enough to leave his lips at the tip of his cock. “Open for me.” It should have been a question.

 

            It wasn’t.

 

            Billy opened his mouth, though, let his jaw fall slack. Steve couldn’t believe it, could barely fucking breathe as he pushed forward. His cock slipped past those gorgeous, wet lips again and inched back, back, _back_ , until Billy gagged and Steve moaned. He didn’t let up, though, didn’t let Billy pull away because Billy swallowed and whined like he wanted it. Steve moved slow, but the noise of Billy’s spit and lips and throat working around him encouraged him to go faster. Harder. He began to fuck into Billy’s mouth and gasped each time Billy pushed that piercing up against the underside of his cock. It was hot. It was everything he dreamed of.

 

            It was too fucking much.

 

            “Hold still,” Steve warned, not that he _needed_ to. Billy seemed happy to comply with whatever, flushed and dazed. His pupils were blown wide, eating up the ocean-blue, betraying any protests he _might_ have had. But he didn’t. He stayed still as Steve pulled back, as he rested just the tip of his cock between those lips. When he came, he watched Billy’s throat work, watched him swallow. Before he was done, he shifted backward and licked his lips as lines of cum painted Billy’s lips, his cheeks.

 

            Billy stood, slow and shaky, and Steve wondered if he was going to get decked for doing that. He shivered as Billy pressed against him, as their mouths slotted together. Steve licked over Billy’s lips, licked his own cum from the ring on his lip, and sucked the ball into his mouth. Billy groaned against him, rocked his hips forward, and Steve exhaled hard from his nose.

 

            “So… San Diego?” Steve grinned and Billy laughed.

 


	28. Get Out of Here (If It’s the Last Thing I Do)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by "Lovely" by Khalid.  
> Warning: A bit of abuse.

Get Out of Here (If It’s the Last Thing I Do)

 

            “You’re going to end up _exactly_ like your mother,” Neil seethes into his face, and Billy thinks, _yeah_ , he was. He can feel it in his blood, in his bones, with every breath he takes. He feels it like the wet heat during Indiana’s summer, a swallow of liquid instead of the oxygen he so desperately fights for. It was a layer on his skin, slick and uncomfortable and _wrong,_ according to his father.

 

            But Billy knows, as he tips his head down to meet his father’s eyes, that Neil hates him because he _is_ so like his mother. He _is_ so like Neil’s dead wife. Neil lets a lot of shit go when he’s drunk, and it’s not always his fists. Sometimes, he babbles. He babbles about his dead wife and Billy’s curls and his bright blue eyes. He rants about _what ifs_ and Billy’s inability to amount to anything.

 

            So, this wasn’t _abnormal_ because Billy can smell the whiskey on Neil’s breath. He knows that if he makes the wrong move, the bruises will pop up in the morning.

 

            It’s always worse in the summer, Billy muses bitterly as Neil continues to hiss and rant and rave. Billy has already tuned it out and his mind becomes blissfully blank before Neil’s hand brings him crashing back into his abysmal reality. He backhands him hard enough to jerk his head to the side, to wash blood over his tongue. The sting yanks him back, like a reverse fucking catapult.

 

            “-and you _will_ stay in this fucking room until I’ve decided what I want to do with you,” Neil finishes. Billy breathes through his nose and his nostrils flare, but he doesn’t acknowledge him. His skin is hot and not just where Neil hit him. It crawls, as if spiders with legs made of needles are canvassing his body for their next meal. He feels like he’s being eaten alive. Too hot. Too confined. Too angry. Too _everything_ dark and oily and wretched.

 

            “Tell me you understand,” Neil demands, grips Billy’s leather jacket and yanks him forward and then back, into the wall he has pinned him to. Billy’s teeth click with the severity of it and his cheek throbs. The roots of his _teeth_ pulse with it.

 

            “I understand,” Billy starts, but he pauses long enough to see the flash in Neil’s eyes.

 

            Because sometimes, Billy asks for it. He does it purposefully.

 

            “You understand, _what_?” Neil presses and Billy tries not to grin, to laugh to spill the washed up gunk that continues to consume him. Neil adds to it when he grabs his jaw, when his fingers dig his cheeks into his teeth and angles his face so Billy can’t do anything _but_ look at him.

 

            “I understand, _sir_ ,” Billy adds and ignores the small trickle of blood at the corner of his lips.

 

            Neil lets go, hesitates, pats Billy’s cheek in a condescending fashion before he pulls away and leaves the room.

 

            Billy breathes in, counts to ten. Exhales. Breathes in again. He flexes his fingers and closes his eyes. He tries, desperately, to think of his mother’s smile and her flowery perfume. Really, Billy would be lucky if he ended up like his mother. She may have died, but she lived a happy life, as far as Billy knew.

 

            Neil was a monster that he once-upon-a-time hadn’t been, and Billy hates that he longs for that. He longs for the days when Neil called him _kiddo_ and ruffled his hair. Those are gone and replaced by the taste of blood and the smell of shit in the middle of fucking nowhere.

 

            Billy steps forward, eases his door closed, and rummages until he finds the hoodie he kept buried in the bottom of his closet. After he tugs it over his head, he sinks onto his bed and buries his face into his hands, the sleeves long enough to cover his palms, his fingers. The smell of Harrington is a calming one. Some expensive ass cologne. It wasn’t that it was expensive, though, or that it smelled nice. It was that it was _Steve’s_.

 

            They weren’t even Harrington and Hargrove anymore. They were Steve and Billy. _Are_ Steve and Billy, and while Billy is trapped in this god-forsaken house _right now_ , he was leaving the second he turned eighteen.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Remember: these are prompts/headcanons/ideas that came out through Tumblr, so there's no rhyme or reason to them! Just fun! 
> 
> Thank you for kudos/comments AND for simply reading! It means the world to me!


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